My Heart Burns
by ScruffyDonut
Summary: After years of abuse at the hands of the Dursleys, Harry is freed by a shadowy presence, but at what cost? Dark themes, angst, and death inside. No pairings.
1. The Prelude

This is basically just an experiment. The writing style is a bit different, though it's close to what I've done before, in my Naruto story "Innocent". I have held onto this finished chapter for a few months now, debating with myself how to continue it, or whether or not I should continue it. I really want to make this into something more than what it is now, as it leaves a lot of unanswered questions. So, I just decided to go ahead and post it, just to see what everyone has to say. Any suggestions or ideas anyone has would be greatly welcomed. Criticism too. This story will be AU, and I'm changing quite a bit of canon, but hey, it's just for fun. Just a "what if" kind of thing here. Hopefully it won't be too confusing, and I plan to answer everything in later chapters. If I can ever get them written lol.

I disavow all rights to copyrighted material.

Warnings: child abuse, death, and dark themes.

"_Parseltongue."_

"Talking."

'Thinking.'

_Someone else's POV or memory._

SsSsS

My Heart Burns

The Prelude

SsSsS

_But for corruption, thou hast made an angel of destruction._

SsSsS

Fighting valiantly against tears, the nine-year-old boy worked his small, shaky hands diligently. The beautiful flowers proved a stark contrast to the boy tending them. Flowers; colorful, alive, and sweet. They grew up out of the warm soil, reaching for the bright sun, but the boy was empty and numb. He lived only to work for his relatives, never hoping for something more. Never reaching for the light.

Harry James Potter was a slave. He got by on nothing but bread and water most of the time, while he was forced to cook for his aunt, uncle and cousin. While they slept soundly in their beds every night, Harry lay awake on a hard cot. The cupboard under the stairs was his domicile in a house made a prison.

Harry knew that if he wasn't forced to weed the garden, he would never leave the house at all. Harry knew that if he wasn't forced to cook and clean, he would never leave the cupboard at all.

Harry liked the dark. The dark took away his fears. In the absence of light, he couldn't see the Dursley's faces. Sneering at him, laughing at him, and loathing him.

On this particularly warm May afternoon, Harry was performing his daily chore of gardening. Aunt Petunia made sure she had one of the best gardens on Privet Drive, even though she never bothered doing it herself. She had Harry for that.

So here he was again. On his hands and knees, weeding Petunia's petunias. Harry usually found a bit of solace among the plants. He knew what each flower liked, and what it didn't like. He knew the hyacinth, the begonias, the forget-me-nots, the roses. The colors served a slight purpose in his meaningless life. Only they showed him compassion.

But not this day. Today, Harry was just in too much pain to care.

Yesterday had been one of the worst days in his short life. Aunt Petunia had decided to cut Harry's unruly hair. She had told him it looked like a rat's nest and took the scissors to it. Harry flinched with every snip, fearing he'd lose an ear. He sat resigned and defeated when he thought she had finished, but to his surprise, she kept cutting. And kept cutting. And kept cutting some more.

His aunt, while snipping, mumbled something inaudible, so Harry smarted off about how his hair apparently didn't want to be cut. But Aunt Petunia had heard the remark, and it earned him a smack to the head and more hair cutting. It was later that day, after the horse-faced woman had given up on cutting the hair that refused to be cut, that he'd gotten one of his worst beatings yet.

As Harry finished washing the dishes left from the Dursley's dinner, he heard Petunia complaining to Vernon about "the freak's" hair. The freak, of course, was Harry. All three of the Dursleys had their pet names for him, and freak was one of the nicer ones. But, as Harry turned to leave the kitchen and escape to his dark cupboard, Vernon stopped him.

"Boy, why won't you let your aunt cut your hair? It's a damn mess!"

Harry no longer had much patience with the stupidity of his family. Couldn't they see it wasn't his fault? It's not like he was the one who couldn't even cut a kid's hair properly.

And with the heavy blow to Harry's cheek, followed by painful words spit from his uncle's mouth like venom, Harry knew he'd accidentally said that last thought out loud.

The warm sunlight on his back ached. It burned into his gashes, right through his over-sized shirt. With each move Harry made, he could feel the slowly healing wounds pull apart, reawakening the fresh agony. Last night's abuse was the first time Uncle Vernon had used his belt on exposed flesh.

The young boy worked the dirt, but his mind was focused solely on the horrible memory. He was crumpled on the kitchen floor; crying, bleeding. The insults and vicious sounds the belt made as it slapped against his back were washed away, flooded in Harry's own fear as he looked up into his uncle's face. Time stopped for the nine-year-old that moment. A face frozen in rage, was framed by eyes alight with blood-curdling _pleasure_.

A tremor ran through Harry's body. Vernon had enjoyed hurting him. The fat man looked like he couldn't wait to do it again. Harry knew that he needed to be extra careful now that he knew what his uncle was capable of.

Harry hadn't spoken a word to anyone the rest of the day. He just couldn't risk it. He dared not even think. Only the image of Uncle Vernon's rage induced delight plagued his mind. Harry had finished gardening, went straight to his cupboard, and stayed until it was time for him to cook. When the boy was finally free to sleep that night, he couldn't. He struggled with his discomfort, but his body just couldn't forget the pain. Something was building in Harry's young mind, and with one last stab of searing pain, everything he had been pushing deep down into his soul broke to the surface.

"Why?" he cried. Hot, salty tears burst from his green eyes as he finally succumbed to the weight on his bony shoulders. "What did I do? Why do they hate me…"

Harry trembled violently. An unknown feeling rose from his chest, mingling itself in the fear and pain that had been long pushed aside until this very moment. The darkness seemed to cuddle the child as he wept.

"I don't want this anymore! I'm scared! Why did my parents have to die? Why…."

Choked sobs erupted on their own from Harry's throat. He felt so raw and sore now, and despite the pain in his back, he drew knobby knees into his chest and held on tight as everything came crashing down around him. He saw darkness swirl around him through blurry vision and he had to close his eyes to keep from reeling out of control.

"Isn't there anyone there? Can't someone help me? Anyone! I don't care who…just please help me!"

Desperate pleas from a broken child continued long into the night, heard by no human ears.

sSsSs

Again, day after day, the same thing. "Get up, freak!" The Dursleys eat breakfast while Harry Potter eats nothing. Flowers, dirt, sunlight. Pain. Fear. Harry Potter says nothing. The Dursleys eat dinner. Harry Potter eats nothing. Harry Potter feels everything.

The night brings his tears. Vernon snores, and Harry cries.

"Anyone…please…_please_…help me."

Broken, alone and helpless, the child cradles his legs in the dark gloom and falls into a sleep riddled with screams and green light.

sSsSs

The warm days have gone by in blur now. Harry's mind cannot grasp anything in particular. All of the uncontrollable feelings wash everything away, until he knows of nothing else. He tries to focus on the deep violet of the hyacinth, he feels nothing with his hands. The sun beats down on him with a warm fist.

A shadow covers him. At first he doesn't even notice. But as it lingers, it grows. Harry suddenly stops all movement. He sees the ground around him has grown dark, very dark. It seems as if someone was standing over him, but when he looks, no one is near. No one but the shadow. A brief, slight flicker of hope jumps into in heart, but he pushes it away.

'It was just a cloud passing over…'

sSsSs

Careful not to actually run, Harry flees the kitchen. Vernon continues his mindless frenzy about drills. For once, Harry isn't the brunt of the large man's anger. But staying away is key to the boy's survival. He realizes how lucky he is that the Dursleys believe in 'out of sight, out of mind.' His uncle's yelling is finally replaced by snoring that night.

sSsSs

Harry Hunting has begun. Dudley can't find Harry, and the chase ends. But Harry is still running. Toward something. But that somethingis always gone when he reaches it. A shadow from nowhere. A whisper on the breeze. It taunts Harry playfully, like it wants him to catch it. It wants to be found. A small smile creeps onto Harry's face for the first time in…

sSsSs

Aunt Petunia looks so frightened. Harry could almost feel sorry for the woman. Almost. Vernon is so angry with her, and over nothing. The small boy forces away a smirk at hearing his dear aunt yelp in surprise as Vernon yells at her. Dudley takes a cue from Harry and disappears. Green eyes shine in barely concealed mirth that night in his cupboard. Now, he's not the only one in this house who lays in the dark and cries. His cousin's sobs can just be heard over the loud roaring of the boy's father. Harry smiles. He is pleased. The dark closes in around him and it feels right. A warmth fills him as sleep creeps in, a soft whisper promises redemption.

Harry wakes up. He's groggy, as if there's a mist covering his thoughts. But he can remember the dream. Like pieces in a puzzle, they show him a story. A woman pleads. A high-pitched laughter. The woman screams, and it all ends in green. He's seen this many times before. Nearly every time Harry has slept, he has seen it. The cold laughter chills him. But that green isn't so bad. No. Harry likes the green. It reminds him of his eyes, and he likes his eyes.

sSsSs

The shadow has stayed longer with him this time. Harry works outside, spraying a fine mist of water on the blooms. The shadow stands beside his own. Harry feels happy. Now he knows. Harry is no longer alone. Something has heard his crying and has finally come.

The happy feeling doesn't last long, though. As soon as Vernon Dursley enters his own home, a feeling of dread follows. All three of the weaker beings cower at his presence. He erupts into a fury once again. And again, it's about absolutely _nothing_. After dinner, the large man consumes more alcohol than Harry has ever seen him drink before. Petunia has fed her husband the brandy like it was candy. And Vernon drinks like a fish.

Soon, the anger turns into a slurred disorientation and a quiet darkness follows. No snores tonight, no crying. But the clawing at the front door keeps Harry awake for a while. The green-eyed youth can't for the life of him figure out why anything would want to come into this house. If you can even call it a house anymore. It is Hell.

sSsSs

Sweat, dirt and blood clung to Harry now that Vernon had finished. The poor boy had been caught unawares as his uncle noticed him outside, working in Petunia's prized flowers. The man had come home from work early that day. No one knew why really.

Never before had Vernon taken a risk like today. Harry had been beaten right there in the yard. In the middle of the day. But there was no yelling, only a silent rage fueled by some kind of new hatred. And then, it ended as soon as it had begun.

"Hurry and go wash yourself, you little freak. And don't you dare think about using any hot water, or I **will** give you something to cry about."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

The water burned into Harry's skin like ice. He always took cold showers, because hot water would be wasted on him. But with the bruises and gashes covering his frail body, the cold water was a punishment. Harry had to limp down the stairs, but he managed to do so quickly. He had practice.

Once in the relative safety of his dark cupboard, Harry curled up with his thin excuse for a blanket. But it was the warm breath on his face that helped. Not only could he feel it wash over him, but he could hear it. A raspy, heated whisper meant just for him.

Harry didn't stay cold for long.

sSsSs

The nine-year-old stared at the dead flowers with a new realization: life is short. Life is frail.

The heat in Britain had risen to new heights that June. The sun sent its sweltering rays toward the earth in a fierce show of dominance over the planet. Sweat trickled down Harry's face, and he trudged back into the relatively cool house. Is there really no such thing as safety? We are all just playing along with life, until the end. Harry honestly believed this would be the end.

The end of something.

Vernon lounged comfortably in the living room, while Petunia eyed some interesting thing out the front window. Harry finished his glass of refreshing tap water before putting the dirty dish back where it had been in the cabinet. Smirking, he returned to his dark closet as quietly as possible.

Bloody Sunday. That is what Harry had remembered this day as. A Bloody Sunday.

The breathing was louder than before. Harry listened closer, trying to make out the words. All he could hear were the shrill complaints of the woman in the living room. Harry felt a panicky fear trickle through his veins, chilling him despite the heat. Did the woman not know how to keep her mouth shut? She will only anger the resting beast formerly known as Vernon Dursley, and that will not bode well for any of the household.

Harry reveled in the deep, harsh whispering just out reach, all the while keeping an ear open for threats from outside. The invisible companion was vying for Harry's full attention, and easily got it with an assertive gust of heat. Even though the boy was drenched in sweat, the warmth felt good. It fluttered across his skin, touching every inch of his body, in spite of clothing. Seeping into his very pores, the force flowed through Harry's veins, easing his sore muscles, his aching bones. It seeped into him like a virus, filling him with pure joy.

The sudden flash of light jolted Harry from his peace, as the door to his cupboard was flung open. And there Vernon stood, eyes full to the brim with something Harry had never seen before.

Absolute. Hateful. Lust.

All feeling drained out of the small boy, leaving him numb with terror. A large meaty hand was suddenly clasped around a thin neck, as Vernon drug Harry out of the cupboard and into a bright, horrible world. He was held down to the floor with the hand around his throat like a claw while the other gigantic fist turned the boy's face into one raw bruise.

Harry lay as still as he could, trying not to encourage this lunatic by struggling. But it didn't matter. After the fist came the belt. Vernon had no target, but hit Harry in every place he saw. Across the chest, the legs, the arms, and finally his face. It was when Harry saw his own precious blood splatter upon Petunia's perfectly white wall that a high, disturbing shriek pierced the world.

Everything stopped. No one dared breathe.

Never before had Harry cried out in pain. He knew he couldn't make that sound again, no matter how hard he tried. It was the cry that innocence made when it died.

sSsSs

An eerie calm floated around Harry. He was still in shock. The events that had transpired that dark day were dull in his memory. He was shocked that he'd survived. Vernon had obviously been quelled by Harry's painful shout, as the man had stopped all violence and lifelessly ascended the stairs. No one saw or spoke to him for the rest of that day or the next. But Harry had been cornered by his aunt that night. She just knew this was all Harry's fault. He was a freak, and this is the kind of trickery that freaks like him are good at. But Harry didn't need to hear his aunt's threat to know that he would be dead if Vernon wasn't 'fixed' soon.

Harry knew in his tiny, broken heart that his uncle meant to kill him. And no one knew why.

Heat and breath circled around the boy now like a storm. A single voice spoke in the darkness from many different places all at once, all together but separate. A compulsion overtook Harry, and he gave in. He uttered the words like a mantra, never having wanted to say them but knowing he had to.

"He's going to kill me."

The voice stopped abruptly and a silence hung in the air. Harry could no longer breathe. A smothering blaze of heat engulfed the small cupboard. Harry could feel the foreign emotion of the intense warmth rolling over him in an infernal tidal wave. It was angry.

The seething heat collapsed when a knock came at the front door. Someone answered. Harry heard the worry in Mrs. Figg's voice when she inquired about the family. Aunt Petunia assured her that all was well, but the old cat lover specifically asked about Harry then. Petunia choked out a pitiful lie, and the house was soon plunged into silence once again.

sSsSs

The unbearable heat of the long day was disturbed by the crisp, cold darkness of night.

Harry lay, just on the edge of sleep. It may have been cold that night, but the boy didn't shiver. He was being kept warm by the presence that grazed over his small frame, emitting a warmth that could rival fire itself.

Harry could never see what it was that had joined him in his lonely life, only a shadow in passing. But he didn't care. As long as it stayed with him, warming him, soothing him with a whispered nothing.

"Mmmm…. Who are you?"

The mumbled question was layered in a haze of exhaustion. Harry was in so much pain, and he was so very tired, that in this moment, he had no idea where he was. All he knew to be real was the comfort from the unknown being above him. It was caressing him, loving him.

Harry slipped deep into sleep that night, recalling no nightmare. Only a green haze filled his mind, while the memory of a low, husky chuckle invaded his senses all night long.

sSsSs

No car crash?

No. Harry's parents hadn't died in some tragic accident. He knew that now. They had been hunted down and killed. The Dursley's had kept this truth from him his whole life, but that didn't really surprise the boy. What did surprise him was that on the evening after that last bloody beating, Vernon had told him the truth.

The man had called Harry into the living room, and told the boy to sit on the floor beside the chair that Vernon had been occupying. Scared, Harry obeyed silently. Petunia and Dudley were told to stay where they were, both perched nervously on the couch. Harry sat on the floor beside the large chair that housed the man. He tried not to show fear, tried not to tremble when Vernon put a large, thick hand on top of his head. Harry fought the urge to flinch away when Vernon began to gently stroke his messy hair. The gesture was almost loving, but the touch, along with Vernon's glazed over face, frightened Harry more than anything.

The large man was like a bow, pulled taught and ready to release that killer arrow at the slightest moment.

And it was there, in that fear saturated room, that Vernon told Harry how the Potters had met their end.

"A man, I don't know his name…must be a good man… just snuck right in the house. Your good-for-nothing father tried to stop him then, I'll bet."

Fat fingers twirled locks of black hair. Vernon hummed to himself gleefully. No sound, no movement came from the other three.

"I suppose your mother was next. Ah, Lily Potter. Was she lovely, my dear Petunia? Is that why you hated her so? No, no that wasn't it... Ah, I remember. She had a gift that you wanted for yourself."

Harry would give anything to be able to laugh this situation away, especially upon seeing his aunt's face pass from fear to anger and back to fear again. A kid with a light switch.

"Then, it was your turn. He did whatever he did, what your kind do, but you just wouldn't die. Would you, boy?"

The contradiction of Vernon's touch to his words was astounding. A gentle, soothing pet, punctuated by chilling truth. Harry was frozen, never daring to move. He couldn't speak, was too afraid to even think. Irrational, Harry suspected his uncle could read his thoughts. A chant had begun in Harry's head. A never-ending beg for mercy, a plea for help.

'Let me go. Let me go. Let me go. I don't want to die…'

The two smaller Dursleys tensed back into the couch when Vernon suddenly stood from his chair, bid them all goodnight, and disappeared up the stairs. Harry heaved a sigh of relief, and all but ran to the cupboard. Petunia glared at her retreating nephew.

sSsSs

_I am Wild. I am free. Born of the Earth, out of time and space, I am his gift. Unleashed out of the fear, I gather power, awaiting my return._

_The land gives its strength so easily. Time flows by in a harsh flood. The trees, the animals, the Earth itself, is all yours now. _

_All for you, my little one._

_Nature itself has control now. And it is I, a wild force that had gained freedom from __**his**__ repressed magical core, that grows in power as the world gives me her love. _

_The fragile colors had been the last to die. _

_But something has happened; something I did not intend. Another has come. A being not unlike myself, whose only purpose is to protect. I have seen him, and he is strong. He will be your savior and your saboteur._

_Please… forgive me, dear child. I only meant to save you, to heal you._

_It is time to return. I will undo the wrongs placed upon you, all the while condemning you._

_This is all for you, Harry._

sSsSs

"…out…"

Harry jolted awake at the voice. It was so clear, so defined now. It couldn't have been the whisper, it's not possible. But he couldn't recall his dream, or if he'd even been dreaming at all. He laid his head back down, only to sit straight up, eyes wide in the dark. Searching. Looking desperately for the person who had just spoken in a commanding tone.

"Get…OUT."

There was no heat, no breathy whisper teasing him. Jumping out from his covers, Harry tried opening the cupboard door. It was unlocked? He eased it open. The quiet hallway unnerved him. But the silence was broken by a creak; a door somewhere to his right opened. The kitchen. The back door leading out of the kitchen had just swung on its hinges unaided.

Harry shrank back into his dark room upon hearing heavy, firm footsteps walking on the tiled floor. Not breathing, not moving, Harry only listened. And waited. Is this it?

Is this the end?

Cold unknown crept into his rapidly beating heart. The sound of someone walking had been replaced with the sound of someone **hissing**. The scratchy voice spoke: "_Sssssssso cold. Ssssssssso bright. Musssssssst make heat_."

Harry's overworked mind only processed one thought; 'I like the heat too.'

Poking his head shyly out into the moonlit hall, Harry found the source of the hissing voice. A thin, pale grey snake. It slithered along a trail of light powder. If snakes could mumble, then that's what this snake was doing. Over and over. "_Dark. Heat_."

Compulsion drove Harry over the edge, and with a bated breath, he spoke to the small serpent:

"_Hello? Are you lossssst_?"

Red eyes locked on to green. Harry watched the snake slithering toward him with a renewed purpose. No more hissing. The creature made it's way right past the boy, straight into the dark cupboard. Harry was captivated by the snake. It had spoken to him, and he understood it. He had spoken to it, and as far as he could tell, it had heard him. The animal may have even understood him, as well. He wasn't sure, but he wanted to know. He needed to know.

"_What are you doing, little ssssnake? Can you hear me?"_

Curling around itself, the snake had completed its quest. _"Musssssst make heat. Yessssss…"_

Harry watched, enthralled by it's purpose. It was undulating, coiling, writhing. Emerald green eyes never left the serpent once, and soon, four small, red eggs glowed in the darkness like dying embers. The heat was filling the cupboard again, but this time, the source was the eggs. Harry realized with a burning pain that he had neglected to blink. The heat from the eggs dried his eyes, and he had to back away quickly, else his face would be covered in burns.

Back against the opposite wall, a rustling called for his attention. Indeed, the back door was open wide. But it was not the door that had Harry's heart leaping into his throat in shock. No, it was the shadow. It was standing in the middle of the deceased flowers. More a man than shadow, it was beckoning to Harry with a long, dark arm. But the boy was frozen on the spot, and his mind could not force action from his body.

Until he noticed the fire now blazing in the cupboard before him.

Desperate. There was no more snake. Only a ring of that same odd powder in the hall circled the quickly growing flames. Horror swept through Harry's blood. The house was on fire! The blaze engulfed the tiny space in mere seconds, eating away at Harry's former life with something akin to vengeance. The poor boy had backed into the kitchen, where he could feel the cool night air on his back. He wanted to run, to get away. But Harry just couldn't look away from the amazing sight. It was power incomparable to anything he ever imagined. Pure destructive fury at it's finest.

The fire ate everything. Down the hall. Through the living room. Up the stairs. Harry thought briefly about the Dursleys. They were trapped. They would soon be devoured by the inferno, burning forever in Harry heart. But this was the end. There was nothing left now, it was all over. Harry turned around and fled through the open door.

A tower of fire now lit up the sky in a wrathful revenge. Harry stood transfixed. The wilted beauties at his feet seemed to cry for him. The life of the flowers had been cut short by rage, foreshadowing demise. The fate of three human beings had been dealt out with no mercy. The painful screams echoed into the world. Their pain punctured Harry's enflamed heart. Tears flowed like a river down the boy's face as he watched his prison crumble in on itself.

This was never meant to be the end. This was only the beginning…

Sirens wailed closer and closer. The shrill sound cried out in urgency. But they would be too late. Too late for Uncle Vernon. Too late for Aunt Petunia. Too late for Dudley. Harry felt a great sadness, not for his family, but for the loss of something he never even had. Dreams burned down with the Dursley's home in an angry torrent of lies and deceit.

"Burn, filth."

The voice was smooth and loud at Harry's ear. It released a brutal laugh into the night. Green eyes fluttered, and the young body sank slowly to the ground, as if he could only move in a dream-like trance. The shadow was all around the boy now, stalking like a predator. Flames licked at the darkness in the background of Harry's vision, but the shadow, with it's deep, sweet voice thick like molasses, was the only thing he knew. It was at the very forefront of his mind, his soul yearned to feel the darkness.

The shadow is within his reach now, a dark void in the clasp of his consciousness. Warm breath on his neck, creeping up to dry his tear-soaked cheeks. Harry's eyes close gently, and the warmth caresses him on the outside, filling him with its power. A sudden gasp escapes the boy one last time, as an electric force pushes into his mind, fully invading him. Darkness pulls him under, and the last thing Harry hears before drowning in unconsciousness is that lovely voice resounding through his entire being like an echo.

"My heart burns…"

SsSsS

So there it is. Should I continue this? Is it interesting enough? Please let me know what you think. I beg you. Also, I was unsure about the rating. I'm paranoid that it may not be high enough for this. I'm bad at judging that lol.


	2. I: In The Shadows

I disavow all rights to copyrighted material.

* * *

**My Heart Burns**

**Chapter I: In The Shadows**

SsSsS

**_A dreamer is one who can find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world._**

SsSsS

A year.

A year has passed swiftly since _he_ had awoken from the sleep that claimed the lives of a muggle family.

Harry Potter remembered nothing of that night, or so he lead them to believe. Albus Dumbledore retrieved the young, broken body himself that very night, as a variety of endless, silver trinkets claimed the wards around Number 4 had fallen. The old headmaster, along with his dark but loyal pet Severus Snape arrived to find nothing but fire.

How the Potter boy had managed to come out unscathed would be a mystery for many more years.

Having no other choice, thanks mostly in part to the Ministry of Magic, Dumbledore took Harry to the safe haven known of Hogwarts. That is where the orphan stayed. He lived in a tower on the seventh floor of the grand castle, the dorms of Gryffindor, since then. The staff arrived in time for the new term to find a young man in a child's body. Harry was quiet in nature, never speaking unless prompted. Never disrespectful, never questioning. Always the same blank personality, save for the startled paranoia and near constant tremble of his left arm.

Upon inspection by the school's mediwitch, Madam Pompfrey, no other injury could be found on Harry, aside from the obvious that was born of starvation and assault.

For now, it was quite known among the adults that young Harry Potter had been abused. There were some who believed, Pompfrey and McGonagall namely, who were outspoken are caring, that the esteemed headmaster had known about the Dursley's treatment of the Boy-Who-Lived. They would not dare to question Albus though, not even for what it would be worth to the small boy.

**sSsSs**

The castle was alive now with hundreds of souls, students and staff filled the Great Hall, anxious and awaiting the verdict. Where will Harry Potter be sorted? Gryffindor, where the brave dwell? Hufflepuff, who, for all their honorable traits went ignored? Or Ravenclaw, whose wit was a prized quality? Or, perhaps even Slytherin, where live the serpents, the cunning and cold liars, who could find no other friends than with themselves. Every living and non-living entity waited with bated breath for the answer.

"Slytherin!"

So, a serpent? Many sighed together in anguish, for they believed their savior was a lost cause.

**sSsSs**

So much green. Shades of emerald, forest, and jade found Harry. But this was alright. Green calmed him like no other color could. The Sorting Hat had promised him greatness that night, and Harry felt the long lost spark of hope once again.

He hadn't figured himself to be ambitious, not at first. Freedom was all he'd ever dreamed of, all he'd ever really desired. Love, something Harry had never known, was a distant thing, something to never be sought. For, if he could not be loved, how could he ever love in return? Freedom was solitary, it needed no one else to be fulfilled.

Perhaps then, the want of freedom was truly ambitious.

The other students in Slytherin greeted him all differently. Malfoy offered his hand in what could only be considered an agreement. His bodyguards had said nothing as Harry accepted reluctantly. Other, older Slytherins nodded in congratulations. The rest watched Harry in suspicion, some with hostility. The remaining boys of first year were quiet, and hesitantly sized each other up. Harry kept silent, as he always would, eyeing them all in his own brand of permanent reservation.

**sSsSs**

Professor Snape could be a problem.

Already he had deemed Harry a celebrity of annoying existence. Harry found most of his teachers acceptable, until he'd met the potions master. He would be an obstacle, and a hateful nuisance at best. But Harry could overcome this slight easily in the face of his past concerns. Snape would never measure up to Vernon. Potions, ultimately, would be worth it.

The other instructors, well, were only just that. McGonagall was quite good, strict, but productive. Flitwick, perhaps too soft, but intelligent. Sprout was a well enough teacher, and Harry greatly enjoyed the gardening. And Quirrell was… different. Special somehow. In some way Harry could not pinpoint. The turban-clad man, with his stutter and nervous disposition, was too real to be real. The pain Harry felt surging through the scar on his head was an obvious sign of something sinister, or perhaps connecting. What the man could be hiding beneath the façade, Harry did not know. And if it did not directly concern him, Harry did not care to know. He wanted only to learn.

**sSsSs**

"Mister P-P-Potter? Would y-y-you stay behind, p-p-please?"

The fake stutter of his professor made Harry turn around and gaze at the man. What could he want? Harry had done well in his class so far, so it must not be about his marks. He hoped Quirrell would drop the act for him, as it was as annoying as the newly formed tick in his own left limb.

"Of course, sir. Is there anything wrong?"

"Oh, n-n-no, Mister P-P-Potter. P-Please, sit down?"

It was a question, just as all of Quirrell's sentences tended to be when it came to Harry. Finding a chair just in front of the professor's desk, Harry obeyed.

"I'm surprised, Mister P-P-Potter, that you made it into Slytherin." Quirrell continued as he took his own seat behind his desk. "I f-f-figured you for a G-Gryffindor."

"I have gotten that a lot, sir. Everyone believes Slytherin to be evil, and they think someone with my fame should have been in Gryffindor. They think I'm evil just because I am ambitious and cunning."

"And what do you think, Mister P-Potter?"

Taking a moment to watch his teacher, Harry stalled, pretending to think the question over. In reality, Harry had already made his decision.

"Well, sir, I don't really think people are evil. Or good. It's all just perspective. Just an opinion. Humans judge each other by their own circumstances, or by the views they are taught to believe."

It was the most Harry had ever spoken, to anyone. He saw Quirrell give him a brilliant smile, as if Harry's words were exactly what he'd wanted to hear.

"You're very smart, Mister P-Potter, for one so young. That was a very w-wise thing to say."

Harry gave a small smile of his own.

"Thank you, Professor. But I'm sure it would be alright if you just call me Harry."

The man across the desk had the decency to actually blush before he mumbled a nervous affirmative and let Harry go in time to make it to the next class.

As Harry walked the corridors, staying a good distance behind his classmates, he finally took notice of the absence of shaking in his arm. It was calm for the first time in over a year.

**sSsSs**

Certain looks from certain people were beginning to irk Harry. Dumbledore, for what is was worth, kept eyeing him with sadness that seemed to try to take over the old man's entire body. McGonagall gave him a curt nod of approval. Snape sneered. And Quirrell's smiles were getting larger and more like a smirk everyday.

The attention was very curious.

Harry mostly ignored it. Or, at least attempted to ignore it. He would always look quickly away from the headmaster, as if pretending he'd never seen the old man to start with. He would nod back at the transfiguration teacher and sometimes give her a slight smile. Harry could only look blankly back at Snape.

He would take the same approach with Quirrell as he had the headmaster. Just act as though it didn't matter and that he hadn't even noticed. For Quirrell was starting to worry Harry. It was as if the man were trying to convey some unknown emotion through his expression. As if he knew something about Harry, as if they shared some secret. Harry fretted that his Defense instructor had something planned, something that involved him in some way.

Something of which Harry knew if should not have any part of.

But that seemed all for naught, as Quirrell continued holding Harry back after class, for more of their supposed talks.

"Hello, H-Harry. H-how are you today?"

"I'm just fine, sir. How are you?"

Wishing to get the pleasantries over, Harry took his usual seat before the desk and waited for the interrogation to begin.

"I am well, th-thank you. I was wanting to know about y-you though, H-Harry. You're an awfully q-quiet boy."

"Oh, yes. I usually don't like talking to people much, sir. I don't find I have a lot in common with my peers."

"That's j-just fine, H-Harry. But, why do y-you talk to me? I h-hope I d-don't p-p-pressure y-you because I'm a t-t-teacher?"

"Not at all, sir. I enjoy our discussions."

"W-wonderful!"

Quirrell seemed so pleased. Harry couldn't help but feel nervous.

"Sir? If you don't mind my asking, why do you want to talk to me? It seems a job more suited to a head of house…"

Harry left his question open, so as to let the man interpret it however he would. It could tell Harry a lot about him by his reaction.

"Oh, I-I-I have heard from the nurse that s-s-some terrible things have h-happened to you, H-Harry. I do not know the d-details, as I believe y-you should be the one to tell them, b-but I would like you to be able to c-come to me if you ever n-n-need to."

Shock was Harry's initial emotion. He hid it well, under the blank face he wore constantly, but he was surprised. Maybe he'd just imagined some misdeed out of paranoia?

"Thank you, sir."

**sSsSs**

Draco Malfoy adored sugar.

That much was apparent as the blond inhaled the desserts that laden the table that night. Halloween had come and the Great Hall filled with loud students abuzz with excitement. Harry was never one for sweets, as he'd never had them before. Malfoy had goaded him into trying some, and Harry found them lacking substance.

Harry sat between the ravenous blond and another, equally aloof boy by the name of Theodore Nott. This Nott had a silent way of going about, all while observing anything and anyone around. Harry found Nott's temperament to his liking, and the two would sit in companionable quiet together many nights in the library, away from nosey housemates.

After watching Malfoy in something akin to disgust, Harry tore his eyes away and looked around. The students were overly rambunctious tonight, no doubt due to the holiday and the sugary treats. Harry turned his sight to the head table then, to the staff. Many of the teachers were making merry along with the students, though two were naturally holding back. Snape, who sat with his normal sneer, glared wholeheartedly at the noisy hall.

Harry then met the eyes of Quirrell, who was staring directly at him.

As his own green eyes met the teacher's, a tinge of electricity ran over his scar, nearly causing Harry's entire body to shiver. A flicker of knowing passed through Quirrell's vision, as he pierced Harry with his eyes. To look away was all Harry wanted, to try to look away even, but he could not. Harry was thoroughly caught. He suddenly found himself prey in the trap of a predator.

This new-found truth filled Harry with dread. The once hidden clues presented themselves to him and he found himself disturbed by what they told him. Quirrell had been watching Harry, observing him from afar. Most likely, he had seen something he liked.

Quirrell had judged him, and had found Harry guilty. And that, to Quirrell, was a good thing.

* * *

Quote at the beginning by Oscar Wilde.


	3. II: Inner Demons

I disavow all rights to copyrighted material.

* * *

My Heart Burns

Chapter II: Inner Demons

**SsSsS**

_There is no good and evil, only power and those too weak to seek it._

**SsSsS**

"The stage is set, my lord. But, I do not understand. I thought you meant to retrieve the stone?"

"The stone is the prime objective, but the boy has become important as well. You will not question me as to why."

Quirrell stopped suddenly. He had just come from the third floor, the only entrance he currently knew to the underground chamber that housed the Philosopher's Stone. He meant to steal the stone, as it had amazing power. The stone, a feat of alchemical genius, would prove a fair deterrent to death, a cure to his master's ailment. Quirrell now knew the way in, how to get to the stone, and that was more than he imagined could have happened. He was so far ahead of schedule, everything had gone so well.

For some reason he did not hope to understand, his master wanted Harry Potter.

His lord, who resided with him now, had taken an interest in the boy-who-lived, much to Quirrell's jealousy. Lord Voldemort was with _him_, not some little mudblood child. But when the dark lord gave an order, you followed it. Quirrell yearned to know why. If only he knew, he could help. He lived for Lord Voldemort, the greatest being upon the earth. As much as the host hated Harry Potter for gaining the attention of the parasite attached to it, Quirrell would still commit any act, any crime, to please the dark lord.

If his master wanted Harry Potter, Quirrell would hand him the boy's head on a silver platter.

**sSsSs**

Apart from Malfoy and Zabini's playful bickering and Parkinson's incessant nagging, the common room was relatively quiet. Harry sat with Nott, trying to focus on the relative theory of transformation and its subtle difference to transfiguration. It was a slight difference, one easily misunderstood. The properties of the target meant to be changed played the largest factor in determining the proper procedure, the entire equation. Not many could grasp the true art of transfiguration.

Harry wondered if transmutation would be this interesting.

Marcus Flint, an elder Slytherin, disturbed the study session and shoved Harry's thoughts away.

"Potter. Snape's looking for you."

Harry nodded his understanding and made the trek to the potions classroom. Snape called for him to enter the moment Harry knocked on the door.

"Potter. Professor Quirrell has been speaking with you, am I correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

Harry, startled by the rare bluntness, blurted out the first thing to come to mind.

"Pardon?"

"I asked you why, Potter. What does Quirrell want with you?"

"I have yet to figure that out, sir. He has asked me to seek him out if I were to have any trouble with my past. He claims to offer comfort."

Snape actually snorted.

"Does he? And what do you think, _Mister Potter_?"

"What I think, sir, is that he's a liar."

**sSsSs**

Another day of the same. Quirrell droning on and on about ghouls. "Highly resistant to most magic… blah blah blah… very fast and hard to hit… blah blah blah… usually harmless… blah blah blah."

The subconscious mind can be an amazing tool. It can open up entirely new worlds for the ones who know themselves so fully. On the other hand, your own mind will betray you. There is a piece of your inner thoughts that seemingly no man can control. Like a face inside, it whispers encouragements and hurls insults in one breath. It would not be surprising to Harry if everyone had the same hidden voice he did.

Harry's thoughts wondered into this new ground when he'd tuned out the professor's boring lecture about a creature he'd already read about. Quirrell's words were just a repeat, and so Harry had started ignoring him, preferring to watch the shadows cast by candles dance across the stone walls. It was then that Harry was struck with an odd realization: he was relaxed in an environment where he should be alert.

And his entire body was completely, utterly still.

Less than a month before, Harry had sat pinned by this man's gaze, fearful of something he could not fathom. Now, he was in Quirrell's class, not bothering to even listen. Nor was Harry's arm shaking, though it would in any and every other situation. It was as if Quirrell was the reason for Harry's ease…

_You're weak._

The thought was sudden and unexpected. Harry had no control, but knew it spoke the truth. Reliance on other people, for even the slightest thing, is weakness. Knowing now that this stuttering, nervous liar could help him in any way, made Harry angry, frustrated. The face inside called Harry weak, told him that he would never be strong, that he would never be free if he didn't learn everything, if he didn't know everything. The little voice in the back of Harry's mind was right, and becoming more and more persistent with every passing day.

**sSsSs**

One month, two months. In the third month, all was still quiet. Studying had increased, and so had reading. Harry spent every free moment in the library now, often forsaking food for his new regimen. Harry had listened to his insecurities and self-esteem when it called him stupid. When it said he wasn't good enough. He wanted to prove himself wrong, prove the whole world wrong.

On a crisp Sunday in February, that all came tumbling down. Quirrell, of course, was to blame.

Harry found himself in his Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, sitting quietly while Quirrell mumbled away about some magic mirror. It wasn't until the professor mentioned what the mirror reflected did Harry perk up and really hear what the man was saying. A mirror the showed the deepest desires of your heart? Yes, Harry was curious. He hadn't the slightest clue what his heart truly wanted, as he never felt the desire for anything but what the voice inside wanted. His mind wanted power, but what did his heart want? Harry wanted to look in this mirror more than anything, and when Quirrell offered to take him to see it, Harry ignored the previous warnings of Professor Snape and followed Quirrell.

It was a near fatal mistake.

The mirror showed Harry amazing things. Things he'd never even dreamed of. He was so engrossed in the beautiful fantasy of the Mirror of Erised that the curse from behind was completely unforeseen.

Harry knew pain. The lash of a belt swung so hard it would forever leave a jagged scar. Being thrown to his knees atop a cold, linoleum floor and hearing a resounding crack fill the large kitchen. Week after week of hunger. These things had all been very painful for Harry, especially when they had first been done. This curse was no different. It was a new experience, and it was painful. Perhaps the most painful thing Harry had ever felt. So far. That thought, that knowledge that this suffering would eventually end and that there are far worse events that would surely come to pass, gave Harry a sort of grounding as he lay writhing and screaming on the cold stone floor.

It saved his mind from crumbling in upon itself and breaking like a glass shard.

When Quirrell finally let up from the torture for the first time, Harry had barely noticed. For him, it seemed as if the curse had never left his body. Quirrell's hesitation to reapply the spell was unmistakable, and the second wave of pain was considerably less intense.

The spell only lasted a minute before Quirrell had started flailing around, screaming, in his own world of agony. Perhaps there was some kind of link between Harry and this man? Some bond that prevented Quirrell from hurting him, something that calmed Harry in turn? It was no matter now, as Quirrell was able to compose himself, and, with one last glare toward his former student, was gone.

Pain filled his every muscle, every bone was pressure that he could not endure. With a great effort, Harry was finally able to move himself, only to roll onto his side.

Where he once again faced the mirror of desire. Harry looked into his perfect world before him, staring into the depths of his heart's most beloved wish. Far into a world wreathed in an endless black inferno.

* * *

A/N: Finally got a new chapter up! Hope it's good. I know they are short, but this will probably be a short story anyway. Maybe 10-12 chapters in all, but that is just a guess. I honestly have no clue how long it will be. Let me know what you think, if you like it or not, and if there is anything you would do differently. Or just read and go on your way, I won't try to force anyone to review. I love reviews and all, but, hey, it's up to you! I'll just be happy to have hits!


	4. III: Weak and Powerless

I disavow all rights to copyrighted material.

Man, took forever to finally upload the last chapter, due to an error popping up everytime I tried for like the last week! So, I decided to post two chapters in one day. Wow.

* * *

My Heart Burns

Chapter III: Weak and Powerless

**SsSsS**

_To survive is to suffer. To live is to find some meaning in the suffering._

**SsSsS**

Possession: Dark Magic. The effect of one person's spirit (a Dark Wizard's) inhabiting or taking over the body of another.

By the end of June, Harry had found another answer to this never-ending puzzle. Quirinus Quirrell had indeed been possessed by the spirit of a dark wizard. The darkest, Lord Voldemort. For days Harry had lain in his hospital bed, wondering what the hell had happened, and for all of his wise endearments, Headmaster Dumbledore would tell Harry nothing of any real importance. Somehow, on his last day in the infirmary, Harry had finally managed to guilt a sliver of truth from the old professor.

It had taken Harry too long to find out what he wanted to know, and still he did not yet know the full story. He knew that Quirrell had been possessed by the dark lord's undead spirit, and that Dumbledore personally believed Lord Voldemort was not dead. Why and how was the Defense professor possessed? Harry still did not know. After Quirrell had started torturing Harry, the man had been forced to stop by the parasitic dark lord. Why would the darkest, most evil wizard in modern history hurt a loyal follower for torturing a child? The answer seemed obvious to Harry. As the boy-who-lived, he was a special case, not just some nobody whom Voldemort would never consider. It would seem that Voldemort wanted his destroyer all to himself.

It was a personal matter, all about revenge, and that did not surprise Harry in the least. In fact, it made perfect sense.

Just as the curse used on him was perfect. At first, the headmaster would tell Harry nothing, save for one annoying clue. This curse was unforgivable, and that was all. It would cause pain, but Harry already knew that all too well. After leaving the hospital, Harry had gone to Professor Snape, without much more luck. Though, he was able to discern that "unforgivable" was actually the title of the curse, and not just a word to describe it. With the potions master's accidental slip of information, Harry was forbidden to ask any other teacher about the curse.

So, Harry waited. Examinations were approaching with the end of the school term anyway, and Harry fully intended to have the best marks. He poured himself back into a full-time study regimen, which shocked many of his professors. They all knew what he had just gone through not three weeks ago, at the hands of a mad man. Harry couldn't understand their surprise. It was only a little pain, not enough to stop him from reading a book. Harry had been treated for his injury, and released from Madam Promphrey's care, and now he had his mission back. Harry would take the tests, and get the best scores. Simple as that.

Yes, the curse was apparently unforgivable. Yes, the curse was apparently used solely for torture. None of that mattered to Harry, he knew the truth. The truth of the little voice at the back of his mind whispered to him. He knew that, even though he may look the same to everyone who saw him, he was a different person now. Before the events that saw Professor Quirrell torture a student and flee the castle, Harry was still so young, still too weak. Now though, he had grown stronger. He could think differently now. He could withstand suffering better now. Harry could now wait until the end of term to ask Professor Flitwick for a pass to the Restricted Section, which, of course, he got.

It took hours of sifting through old tomes, and regrettably re-shelving some of the most interesting pieces, before Harry found it. The Cruciatus Curse. One of three separate spells, all known as the Unforgivable Curses. Fear turned to rage as Harry read on. Victims are subjected to almost intolerable pain. Some victims of prolonged use have been driven insane.

Insane.

Harry could have lost his mind, and there would have been no way to fight back. Something that belonged purely to him, something that only he could have, might have been broken that day. By a stuttering, lying, ignorant _nobody_.

Harry could not allow this to happen again. He could not afford to stay so delicate, so powerless. Harry vowed, under no circumstance, would the Cruciatus Curse, the Imperius Curse, nor the Killing Curse, ever again touch him.

No matter what it took. No matter the cost. Harry would never again be weak. Harry would never again be a freak. The flames of anger, of wrath, burned in him now, and for the first time in his life, Harry felt no regret.

**sSsSs**

"As luck would have it…"

There is no such thing as luck. Everything happens for a reason.

All of Harry's 'friends' called it bad luck when, on the last night before summer holiday, Harry got cursed. Again. The fight between two fifth year students started out with an insult, another insult, then escalated to a full out duel. The crowd of first years watched with the rest of their Slytherin house as the common was lit with spells. Soon enough, Snape would enter, yell at everyone in attendance of the row, and everything would be quiet once more. Harry would rather not stick around to watch this pathetic spectacle any longer, and tried to maneuver his way through the sea of Slytherins and to the dorm.

He failed though, as a ricocheted jinx found him out of all the students.

There is no such thing as luck. Everything happens for a reason. Though it did seem to be bad luck when Snape came in, fixed the mess, and gave Harry a summer detention for having been "involved enough."

Had this happened before his change of heart, Harry would have been angry. He would have planned revenge on both boys who'd been fighting, and possibly even sneered at his head of house. That was before, though, and Harry was not mad, or vengeful at all. Harry couldn't be happier he had been hit. The jinx was lifted as soon as Snape had entered the common room, although some pain still lingered. The spell had hurt, but it was nothing compared to Harry's past experiences. It had been a tingle, just enough to let his mind know that his body had been injured in some way. It was a reminder of his past, and of his future.

_Pain is just weakness leaving the body. _


	5. IV: Pain Redefined

I disavow all rights to copyrighted material.

Really glad I posted chapters 2 and 3 together; they were both so short. I apologize for them, they were apparently just lazy chapters. I will try to make them longer from now on.

* * *

My Heart Burns

Chapter IV: Pain Redefined

**SsSsS**

_Where there is light, a shadow will follow._

**SsSsS**

It is a good thing, to have this new instructor, who was such an imbecile. Gilderoy Lockhart may be a pompous fool, but fools can be used. To Harry's credit, he could stand the infantile gestures towards fame and adoration for the goal. He would use Lockhart to gain access to the Restricted Section for his entire second year at Hogwarts.

Or, that was the plan, at least. You should never really count on a plan working until it actually worked. Harry knew all about failed plans.

Though, it was going well so far. Term was started and everything was busy, everyone going about their daily routines in the school. Homework was shelled out, the library was full once more, and the awed stares and whispers in the halls returned in Harry's life.

The professors had managed to quash most of the talk of last year's debacle, or at least the truth of the it. Rumors still flew though, and now Harry was again the topic of conversation.

A new goal had been found, a new plan hatched this year. Harry had no time to diddle about with professors and their Cornish pixies. He had no time to just sit and have a nice, relaxing dinner. Harry had no time for conversation anymore. His ambitions would no longer allow for friends and pleasantries.

Every day, every hour of free time would be well spent. Spent with books, notes, theories, and his wand. Practice makes perfect, and so Harry practiced. Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, all of it Harry devoured, and when the homework was completed perfectly, he would research other things, more advanced things. Harry learned about monsters that resembled blankets, that crept about at night and smothered humans in their own bed before it swallowed them whole like a snake. Harry learned of curses so powerful, so dreadful as to flay an enemy alive. Or boil the organs. He learned of a jinx to keep someone from apparating, and then he learned how to shoot arrows from the tip of his wand.

Harry found out about a magical snake that lays eggs of fiery embers, eggs that can burn down a building within minutes if they are not properly frozen, and if not in time. The ashwinder, the serpent is called, leaves a thin trail of ash in its wake, and born of a magical fire, seeks out the dark to lay its embers before turning to the same ashy dust.

After finding this, Harry learned one more new bit of information. He learned that the incantation to the Killing Curse is Avada Kedavra.

**sSsSs**

"Avada Kedavra!"

Lucius Malfoy stood above Mr. William Edgecroft, who now lay dead on the floor of his own living room. This Edgecroft was no one of any real importance, a lowly Ministry employ who played secretary to Arthur Weasley. Edgecroft actually worked in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, making a measly living by measuring cauldrons all day. This man is- was- a good friend to Weasley, and they would pull small favors for each other while at work. Edgecroft, until now, had been in possession of a certain document, a seemingly unimportant note describing set trading standards for cauldrons that were soon to be revised. It was the item Lucius had come for.

It was funny, how the senior Malfoy worked. Edgecroft would be the first of many more deaths that would become common within the next few years. Lucius came into this man's home, knowing his occupation, exactly what he did everyday, even his favorite café, but now that he had what he needed, Lucius would forget William Edgecroft's name the moment he walked out the door.

It had only been two weeks since Quirrell had arrived in the Malfoy Manor and stationed himself properly. Lucius remembered him as the stuttering fool who Dumbledore made the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor last year, before Quirrell tortured Harry Potter and made off with a priceless jewel, the Philosopher's Stone. When Lucius had first been contacted by this Quirrell, he assumed consumption of the Elixir of Life had changed the turban-clad teacher into something darker, something of a rising Dark Lord. That is, until Lucius finally saw Quirrell. The man who'd entered the manor was not Quirrell, it was plain by the pale skin and scarlet eyes. Quirrell was gone, and in his place was the Dark Lord Voldemort.

So here was Lucius Malfoy, accomplishing tasks for his master once more, bringing the first mission to success, so that soon, the war could begin again.

**sSsSs**

Aggravated, Harry held his arm down on the table with more force than necessary. He tried willing it to stop shaking, so that he might continue on with his lessons. All summer it had trembled, the movement becoming more pronounced each day. Now, it was really getting on Harry's nerves. With this problem, ambidextrous wand training would have to be put on hold.

Charms finally let out and Harry was thankful, until he remembered where he had to go next. Lockhart had put together a dueling club, presumably after sweet-talking the headmaster. Chatter among students was excited and fast, everyone was apparently looking forward to dueling. Everyone except Harry, that is. As far as he was concerned, he had far better things to do with his time instead of playing.

A few long moments later and the entire student body was congregated around one long, velvet-covered table in the Great Hall. Lockhart strutted the length of the table, spouting rubbish as usual, before introducing a very angry Professor Snape as his assistant. Apparently this little dueling club was mandatory for more than just the students.

The first "demonstration" found Lockhart wandless and blushing, courtesy of Snape. After this most recent show of incompetence, Lockhart decided to throw the students against each other. Harry knew, just knew, that he would be picked by the celebrity teacher of theirs, and he was correct. He climbed atop the stage and waited while Snape argued with Lockhart over who would duel Harry. Snape won, of course, and the Slytherins cheered for Harry as he faced off with a fifth year Ravenclaw.

**sSsSs**

Dinner that night was loud and proud at the Slytherin table. Harry had been congratulated by nearly every boy and girl in his house, all of them feeling superior that one of their second years could so utterly defeat an upper year student of what is known as the smartest house in Hogwarts. Harry's dorm mates were gathered around him, still impressed by his demonstration of the shield charm, Protego. The rest of the school ate in what seemed to be a quiet depression.

Harry wished they would calm down already, but Malfoy's mouth kept them going.

"I knew Potter would show that Ravenclaw a thing or two. Potter's a Slytherin, and we're the best. That Ravenclaw- what was his name again?- should have known better."

Nott, tired of Draco now, spoke up from beside Harry.

"His name is Ewan Bradley, Malfoy. I can't see how you would forgot. He's the one who always insults Slytherin, saying we "don't have enough brains to go along with our abundance of ambition". You've always hated him, remember?"

A few laughs echoed around as Malfoy rolled his eyes and sent a dirty look toward the Ravenclaws.

"Besides," Nott said, "Snape was making a point when he pit Bradley against Harry."

Theodore stopped talking, in favor of another bite of potatoes. Harry looked at his friend from the side, knowing this was just a tactic Nott liked to use a lot. He would say something to get attention, and go silent again, counting how many curious looks he could rack up. Nott liked baiting people. Finally, he continued.

"Actually, there are a few reasons Snape did that. But the main one, I think, was to teach the whole school, not just Ravenclaw, a lesson about Slytherin. You see, he wanted to remind everyone that our house is dangerous, _still _dangerous, and anyone who decides to become an enemy to a Slytherin better think again."

All who had heard Nott's speech went silent, knowing exactly what he was implying. Most of the students sitting at that table were the children and grandchildren of Death Eaters. They'd all heard stories of the dread their own families had caused when the Dark Lord was around.

They had all been taught how to manipulate and lie, but some of them had been instructed in the ways of true control; fear. Causing terror throughout Britain had been the Dark Lord's favorite tool. It had given him and his servants control over everyone, to some degree. People like Theodore Nott, Draco Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, even Millicent Bulstrode, learned the lesson of fear early, and they knew now that fear could be a very strong motivation.

Even Harry knew all of that. He'd learned from experience. While Draco Malfoy had been instructed on how to torture someone, Harry knew what it was like to be tortured. Harry knew what it felt like to kill.

Stories of horrific things were informative, no doubt about that, but knowing those terrifying things, having looked them in the face and survived, was knowledge indispensable.

People will deceive you. Memories don't lie.

**sSsSs**

Other than the "accident" in May that caused Professor Lockhart to tuck tail and leave Hogwarts fearing for his life, the rest of the year had been quiet. Harry finished his second year with the top marks of his class, narrowly beating out one Gryffindor girl.

Though school had gone relatively well this term, another threat seemed to be looming just over the horizon. _The Daily Prophet_ had actually started printing news instead of trivial rumors, which would have been a miracle in itself, if the news it was now spreading wasn't so dire.

Two wizards, both Ministry of Magic employees, were found dead in their homes.

The newspaper printed that they had been murdered, but the Ministry denied it. The government had no comment, they never would, though they adamantly stood by their diagnosis that these men had died because of accidents. _The Daily Prophet_ sarcastically let the world know that these two victims had "accidentally" cast the Killing Curse on themselves.

When Harry would go to breakfast, he could feel the Headmaster's eyes on him. When Harry would go to lunch, he could see the Headmaster watching him. When Harry would go to dinner, he could sense the Headmaster trying to look through him.

Harry would fight the urge to look back and make some kind of connection with Dumbledore. He would avoid any kind of acknowledgment to the old wizard. Yes, Harry knew it was Voldemort. Yes, Harry knew that Dumbledore knew it was Voldemort as well. Dumbledore would try again and again to catch Harry's eye, but Harry would not look.

Harry knew that making eye contact with a Legilimens would be extremely bad for his health.

* * *

A big thank you to anyone who reads this! And an even bigger thank you to the reviewers! You guys have helped me get more updates going and make this story worth writing!


	6. V: Waking Up the Devil

I disavow all rights to copyrighted material.

Hey, how about another chapter today?

* * *

My Heart Burns

Chapter V: Waking Up the Devil

**SsSsS**

_When you look into the abyss, the abyss looks into you._

**SsSsS**

Harry sat on his bed in the Slytherin dorm, alone and thoughtful. School would resume in just four more days, and he wanted to preview his notes from last year, taken when he was free to search the Restricted Section undisturbed. It was a very good chance he would not get the same treatment this year, depending on what new fool Dumbledore hired for the Defense professor. If the headmaster ever found one to hire, that is. Harry had watched as Dumbledore hurriedly browsed through prospective employees. What few there were.

So far, Dumbledore still hadn't found anyone who actually wanted to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts.

Harry kept going back to one particular set of notes, taken from an advanced charms and curses textbook. He'd taken the notes, finding more than a few interesting hexes and useful charms, but one curse stood out from the rest, and he couldn't get his mind off of it. He wanted to learn it more than anything, but he could not understand _why_. The curse was one of the most dangerous, most destructive he'd ever heard of, and would be very difficult to learn. It was known for being nearly impossible to control as well.

The voice inside that kept pushing Harry, eager to learn more and more, was nearly giddy every time Harry read his notes on the Fiendfyre curse.

**sSsSs**

The Malfoy Manor was buzzing with activity. Not for many years had the house been the meeting place for so many Death Eaters. Lucius and Narcissa made their guests feel at home, though took special care not to let them all become too comfortable. The utmost comfort and hospitality went to the man sitting at the head of the lavish dinning room table.

Plans had already been made, and Lucius had already killed two men who were innocent. They were not guilty of any crime that he knew of, they had simply been unfortunate, in the way. The secret letters that Lucius had killed the men for were from agents within the Ministry, spies having originally worked for Augustus Rookwood. Lucius had to contact all of them, as per the plan his Lord brought with him to Malfoy Manor less than one year prior.

Re-establishing contact with the old spies within the Ministry, and other places, was going to make the next step of the plan so much easier. The new additions to their group of spies should work out nicely, as well.

Especially the young Theodore Nott, who apparently was Harry Potter's closest friend. The Malfoy's son, Draco, had been given his own task. It would take a bit more patience, but the Dark Lord had plenty of that. Time was on his side now, thanks to Quirrell actually coming through and getting the Stone. The Philosopher's Stone had worked wonders, doing more for Voldemort than originally thought possible. The Elixir of Life had strengthened his soul to the point of being in complete control of Quirrell's body. It was humorous, the way it had worked out. The parasite had now become the jailer, the former host now trapped within himself, no longer able to live on the outside. Quirrell's body worked well enough, but Voldemort yearned for his real form, his stronger existence.

Quirrell would do for now, but the success of his followers was pertinent to him, and if they did as he instructed, the Dark Lord would once again be back. In earnest.

They will succeed, he knew they would. It was not arrogance or faith that told him this. It was truth. The Death Eaters would not dare mess anything up for their master, for they all knew the consequences, even the young ones. They would return to him with success, or they had better not return at all.

**sSsSs**

Dumbledore had cut it close.

It wasn't until the second day of school did the students learn that they actually would have a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year. The first day had come, and all the Defense classes had been cancelled, as they still had no professor willing to teach the subject. Somehow, Dumbledore had managed to coerce some poor sod into taking the position, and almost too late. Though, now that they actually could go to class, Harry was anxious to meet the man. His name was Remus Lupin, and Harry hoped he really was the "poor sod" everyone had deemed him to be.

Unfortunately, Harry found Lupin wasn't a fool. At least, not completely. This professor was soft-spoken, though he never stuttered. He was enigmatic, though not flamboyant. Lupin seemed to be a real teacher, someone who could really teach. This should have impressed Harry, given Hogwarts lack of competent instructors, but it actually made Harry angry.

From the moment Harry saw this Remus Lupin, he did not care for him at all. Harry felt some misplaced resentment, some unexplainable unease. There was something about Lupin, something wrong, that made Harry want to place himself far away from.

Harry sat through the very first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of his third year anxious, his whole body shaking nearly as violently as his left arm.

**sSsSs**

"So Potter, will you come?"

Harry was suspicious of Malfoy's request. He suddenly wanted Harry to come to a Christmas banquet at his manor, something he'd never invited Harry to before. They'd already known each other for three years, and though they weren't close, Harry was still on friendly terms with Malfoy. Then again, Harry kept on friendly terms with everyone in Slytherin, whether he liked them or not.

Harry thought over the request once more. Something was going on, had to be. Why would the Malfoy family, whom Harry had never met, want to invite the Boy-Who-Lived into their home for a holiday party? Yes, Malfoy had asked every third year Slytherin to attend, but many of them usually went anyway, most of their families' friends and acquaintances of the Malfoys. So far, everyone Draco begged had agreed to go. Everyone, save for Harry.

Would it be worth going? Harry really didn't care about meeting the rest of the Malfoy family, or any of the other rich purebloods who would be there. If this was some kind of trick, what would be worth the risk to Harry? Rumors of Lucius Malfoy being a Death Eater still circulated around the school from time to time, especially now that someone was killing innocent Ministry employees. That fact was something to consider. Just because Lucius was believed to be a follower of Voldemort's, didn't necessarily mean he was. Just because two men had been killed in their home didn't mean it was a Death Eater attack, or that Voldemort was involved, though it was likely he was.

Was it a good idea to go to this Christmas bash at the Malfoy Manor? A small part of Harry that lived deep down was screaming "no", but another side, the louder, harsher voice that prevailed in Harry's mind had only to whisper "yes" and he'd made his decision. It was the voice that so often reminded Harry of his own weaknesses, and told him how to fix them, that thought this was a good idea. It was the side that had grown restless since first year. The face inside that wanted to be in the middle of a little chaos.

**sSsSs**

Friday, on the last week of class before autumn term would end and see everyone off for Christmas, the Slytherin class waited with the Hufflepuffs for Professor Lupin. Harry sat anxious and irritated, wanting only to run away from this class. All day he'd heard tales of the awesome Professor Lupin and his practical lesson with the boggart. The students had all been excited and impressed with Lupin, a feeling Harry could not share. Not only did Harry hate being in the same room as Lupin, but he was also wary to meet his boggart. Who knew what would pop out of the wardrobe sitting so casually at the front of the room when Harry took his turn? He dreaded to find out.

Lupin talked them through the Riddikulus charm to repeal the creature, all gentle smiles and reassurances. Harry was not reassured. Harry was anything but reassured. This was not going to end well, he just knew it. After all, when could he ever remember laughing?

The lesson began, and soon a slew of 'normal' fears invaded the room. There had been a ghost, a jaguar, a vampire, even a giant grasshopper for one shaking Hufflepuff. Finally, unfortunately, it was Harry Potter's turn.

Many wise people have said that the only thing we truly have to fear is fear itself. What is fear, though? Is fear really just an emotional response to a threat, perceived or real? Or can fear be considered a real, tangible thing that exists outside of reality, but within the confines of the human mind? At one point in time, Harry did not care what fear was, just that it was real for him, there was no perception or deception. Threats have always been what his life was based on, but what about fear? Did he really become the boy he was today because of fear?

Before the boggart, Harry didn't know any of the answers. Now, he knew them all too well.

The boggart morphed, and became Harry's greatest fear for all the class to see. There stood a child, dark-haired and young, about seven years old. His shaggy mess of hair filled with dirt, his clothing far too large for his tiny body. He had eyes of dull green, large and framed in black and purple bruises. This child looked only at the teenage version of himself, his eyes longing, but dead. The child was holding his left arm, which was bent at an impossible angle at the elbow. The real Harry subconsciously mimicked his younger self, recalling the break and the pain it caused. The young Harry carried all of the old injuries caused by his tormentors, every broken bone, every bruise, every bleeding gash.

Harry didn't need to look to know blood was coated and dried on the boggart's back, having soaked through the baggy shirt.

_You're still so weak._

Harry could hear the muttering of his classmates behind him, all talking and staring and pointing and uncaring.

_You'll never be anything more than a broken child._

"Mr. Potter?"

Lupin's question was silenced under the never-ending torrent of voices. The noises washed over Harry, judging him. Hating him.

_You'll never know love._

"Harry?"

_You'll never be free._

"Harry?"

_You always have been a freak…_

No.

_And you always will be a freak._

No!

"Harry!"

Lupin's shout stopped the world, breaking the silence that had permeated the classroom as the students watched Harry do nothing but stand and stare, wide-eyed, at his boggart. It was obvious the boggart was Harry as a child, all beaten up and half-dead. Harry turned to look at the teacher, his eyes matching the boggart's; dull green and lifeless.

Everyone in the room stood routed to their spots, silent and still, as they watched the savior of the wizarding world turn and stride from the room, cloak billowing and a face full of hatred worthy of any dark lord.

It was the first time Harry had ever shown a living human being what he really was.

* * *

Thank you for reading! Thank you for reviewing! Thank you for adding this to your alert list! Thank you for adding this to your favorite list! I really appreciate it all.


	7. VI: My Confession

I disavow all rights to copyrighted material.

Wow, I have been a writing fool. Here's another chapter!

* * *

My Heart Burns

Chapter VI: My Confession

**SsSsS**

_An honest answer is like a kiss on the lips._

**SsSsS**

Christmas couldn't have come sooner.

After the boggart episode, Harry had stormed out of class, an enraged wreck of loathing for everyone and everything. Nott had chased him down soon after, as Lupin had dismissed the class immediately. Figures.

Making a student face his worst fear in front of the entire class didn't work out too well for you, did it Lupin?

When Nott decided to pry, Harry very nearly exploded, but had enough control to keep his tongue civil. It wouldn't do to let anything damaging out. Especially not to a Slytherin.

Thankfully Harry would only have to wait two days until he could leave the castle and relax in a potentially dangerous situation in the Malfoy house. Honestly, Harry couldn't wait.

**sSsSs**

Remus sat, contemplating what he could say over a cup of steaming tea. He had run to Headmaster Dumbledore as soon as he realized he had ruined any chance he might have had with getting to know Lily and James' son. Harry had faced his boggart, had done nothing but stare at his boggart, which had so horribly revealed the boy's worst fear, and Remus was the one who'd forced Harry to relive something terrible. In front of the entire class.

"Lupin, you shouldn't blame yourself."

He did blame himself. Why shouldn't he? It was his fault. He had hurt Harry today. He had caused that anger he had seen, right before Harry left. Anger that was directed at him.

Remus was beginning to think he deserved more than anger.

Remus looked up to meet Dumbledore's gaze.

"What happened to him, Albus? What was his boggart?"

The old wizard sighed and looked away. Maybe a bit of candy would help?

"You said Harry's boggart was himself? Young and injured?"

At Lupin's weak nod, Dumbledore continued.

"Perhaps that is just Harry's fear; to be young and hurt is a weakness? Maybe he has a fear of feeling weak? Of pain? Perhaps he's never faced that fear before now, and it made him angry to have the other students see this."

That did make sense. He could have just had a fear of getting hurt, physically, and nothing bad had ever happened to him. Maybe Poppy was wrong about him being abused…

No, it fit too perfectly. An abused child would of course be afraid of being abused again. That's what Harry's fear was. He had been beaten by Petunia's family- Oh, Merlin- and his greatest fear was built from that.

Remus didn't know any of the truth, but he was willing to find out, to talk to Harry. Even if it meant that image of poor Harry's boggart had been exactly what had happened to him in the past.

It was an image that would stay with Remus Lupin till the day he died.

**sSsSs**

Finally the wait was over. It was Christmas evening, and Harry was stepping through a large, ornate fireplace in the foyer of the Malfoy Manor with Professor Snape.

He immediately felt better. The rich interior of the manor was nice, sophisticated. He was dressed the same, in expensive black dress robes sent to him by the Malfoys as a Christmas present. Draco had been much too proud of the gift when Harry had opened it on the last day of class.

Snape kept eyeing Harry as they made their way toward what Harry guessed was a ballroom or dining hall. The teacher hadn't said much to Harry, only reminding him to stay on his best behavior, which Harry only half heard. Who did Snape think he was? Harry was a Slytherin, not some gung-ho Gryffindor. This party would be a piece of cake, a nice change of scenery.

The two entered a set of open doors to the right, and walked into a large parlor, already full of guests. Before Harry had time to really look around and see anyone he recognized, Draco had pounced on him.

"Potter! You came!"

Harry cocked an eyebrow at the blond. So, Malfoy was worried he wouldn't be here? Interesting…

"Oh, and hello sir."

Snape's response to Draco's excitement was a muted "hn" right before the grumpy man walked away, straight to the bar. Draco started chattering at Harry, like usual, but this time was cut off, by a taller version of himself. Lucius Malfoy walked up behind Draco, eyeing Harry with approval.

"Good evening, Mr. Potter. Please, make yourself at home."

Draco immediately shut his mouth, and stood up straighter when he heard his father. Harry had to suppress a smirk. Lucius' timing was much appreciated.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. I am very happy to finally meet you, and I must say your home is absolutely marvelous. Thank you for this lovely evening."

Harry shook the Malfoy senior's hand as soon as it was offered. Tonight was a night to play, a time to be as nice as any Slytherin could be.

_This is going to be fun._

**sSsSs**

Dinner was a relaxing affair. After meeting a few more people, Harry was set down between Draco and Theodore to a grand meal unlike any he'd had before. The Malfoys ate much better food than what the elves at Hogwarts made.

Small talk was made all down the long table, but Harry found he'd much rather just sit and enjoy the food, while watching and listening. Talk ranged from events at the Ministry to shops in Diagon Alley to the weather. If it really was a trap, they were all performing very well.

There was one person in particular Harry kept his eyes on. A young man, perhaps thirty years old, sat at one end of the table, to the right of Lucius' head seat. He was handsome, very put-together, and had been joining in as much conversation as he could. He spoke lightly and seemed to always wear a slight smile. He would have been completely inconspicuous, had he not also been watching Harry the entire time. It wasn't obvious, but Harry would catch the stranger's gaze every time his eyes went toward that direction. Every time, Harry would catch the stranger's sideways glance, and they would make eye contact. Every time, Harry would find himself relaxing just a bit more.

Harry wanted dinner to end already. He wanted to meet this man, to see who he was, to see who he claimed to be. Harry had a good idea, though. Surprisingly, the thought of being in the same house, of having dinner with Lord Voldemort did not frighten Harry. It was actually quite invigorating to think about…

Eventually the meal did end, and they were all moved into another sitting room, much like the first. The décor was different, and the was about it. Ah, rich people.

Harry stood with Draco, listening to him going on about his lavish presents. Harry wasn't really listening, of course, he hardly ever did when it was the youngest Malfoy jabbering. Harry was watching the stranger from dinner as the man was talking to a large group of people, all crowded around him like he was the messiah. Considering who the man may be, he might as well be the messiah to these people. Harry watched, curious, as Lucius approached the man, talking quietly to him, before they both made their way straight toward Harry and Draco.

Draco shut up the moment he saw his father move close.

"Mr. Potter, may I introduce you to an old friend of mine? Mr. Albert Jonas."

Harry smiled at "Mr. Jonas" and the strange man smiled back. There was no offer of a handshake.

"Harry Potter. I've heard so much about you."

Harry didn't feel like playing this game for much longer.

"I'm sure you have, Mr. Jonas. I wish I could say the same, but unfortunately, I have never heard of an Albert Jonas before."

The stranger lost a bit of his smile, but decided to keep most of it. Lucius, on the other hand, seemed to be surprised, if his raised eyebrows were any indication. Then, Harry finally heard what he was waiting for.

"Well, then Mr. Potter, perhaps we should speak in private, so I may tell you all about myself?"

Harry's smile became a little more genuine.

**sSsSs**

The room was silent. Still. Harry waited, wondering if the man across from him would make any move, any sound. Harry waited, wondering if this would be the last conversation he would ever have, if he would die here tonight.

The silence was too much, so Harry went first.

"I know who you are."

That got a chuckle from this Mr. Jonas.

"Do you now? Are you afraid, Harry?"

Harry didn't understand why, but he was not afraid. In fact, he'd never felt as calm as he did right now, alone in Malfoy Manor with Lord Voldemort.

"Should I be?"

Another chuckle.

"Many would think so, Harry. But no, you should not be. Do you know why?"

Harry shook his head. He didn't understand. He didn't know why he wasn't dead already. This was the man who had targeted him as an infant. What could have changed his mind?

"Do you want to know what happened with Quirrell, Harry? Why he did those terrible things to you?"

He did want to know. Harry looked on, waiting.

"I'm afraid that was my fault. You see, Harry, I wanted to meet you. I wanted to know who you were, who you could become. Quirrell… misinterpreted my orders. He assumed I wanted you dead, but in fact, I want you with me."

For some reason, that voice inside thought all of this was very funny. Especially Harry's sudden shock at what the Dark Lord just said.

"You want me to join you? Me?"

"Yes, Harry. You're still so very young, but you're special. You could have everything you've ever wanted, Harry, if only you would join me."

_You're not special. He's lying._

"Join you? As a blind slave?"

"Blind? Oh no, Harry. None of my followers are blind. They're simply devoted to the cause. Their goals are my goals. They know that, with me, they will win. One day, they will be free."

_You're weak. You'll never be free._

"Tell me, Harry, what are your goals? What do you want?"

Harry felt so young, so helpless now. What was the answer? He could not find it. He didn't know what he wanted. He didn't know who he was. He didn't even know what he was.

"I don't… You said none of your followers are blind? What if they wanted to be? What if I wanted… I…"

Harry jumped from his seat. It would be better to move, to pace the room. Maybe that would help. Voldemort's eyes on him sure didn't make this any easier.

_How about, for once in your life, just tell the truth. If you can speak the truth…_

The truth? Is it really that easy? Just let this man, this Dark Lord who killed his parents, just let him in? Just tell him how you feel, and hope for the best?

Hope. Harry no longer had hope. Not for anyone. Not for anything. Not for himself. What would it hurt if Lord Voldemort knew everything there was to know about Harry Potter?

Screw it.

"I want to let go. I don't want to feel anymore. I want to be numb inside. I want to be free. Faceless. Nothing."

His confession ended in a long silence. Harry was breathing deeply, trying to decided what this meant, how Voldemort might react. Would he still want him? Would an empty, emotionless tool still be useful to a Dark Lord? Logically, he knew the answer was yes. The feeling inside, however, told him otherwise.

_You're weak. You're pathetic. You're nothing to him. You'll never be free. You'll never get rid of me…_

Harry was able to calm down when Voldemort finally answered.

"Do you have any enemies, Harry?"

"Quirrell."

"Ah, yes. Well, pick another. He is still of some use to me."

Another enemy? Who could Harry choose? Why was he choosing in the first place? Who has wronged him so much that he would just like to…

"Remus Lupin."

Voldemort chuckled. This was going better than he ever could have imagined. This boy was absolutely perfect.

"Remus Lupin? Good. He has hurt you? He has made you angry?"

Harry nodded his head. He felt like he would start shaking again at any time. Just a little longer…

"I understand how you feel, Harry. But anger can be a very useful emotion. It can make you stronger, it can give you power. I want to help you, but first you must help yourself or you won't be of any use to me. You want me to need you, don't you?"

Shaking. Yes, because if he doesn't need Harry, then Harry is dead.

"Yes. You're trapped within yourself, Harry. You're holding yourself back with this fear and this doubt. You, of all people, should never doubt yourself. I want you to break away from these nasty insecurities, they will only weaken you. Your angry, your rage, that is where your power hides. Use it. Free it. Take control and punish your enemies. Follow me, Harry, and together we will show the world the true meaning of fear."

The answer. That was it. It had just been given to him. Harry accepted it, even though it was served upon on a silver platter. Wasn't he supposed to be wary of silver platters? Wasn't a silver platter just a beautiful lie? Harry no longer cared. He'd found the answers, all of his answers, and he was going to hold onto them until he bled.

_You are not alone._

_You've never been alone._

* * *

Ha ha ok. Just to clear up any confusion: this is not going to have any pairings at all. This isn't a LV/HP. Harry will have a very odd relationship with Voldy, and you're all free to interpret it any way you please, but I won't be making them a couple, even though it may look that way later on.

Oh, and thanks again for reading/reviewing/listing!


	8. VII: Monster

I disavow all rights to copyrighted material.

* * *

My Heart Burns

Chapter VII: Monster

**SsSsS**

_The truth is that monsters are real. They live inside us, and sometimes they win._

**SsSsS**

Weeks went by. Harry waited only the right time. Some moment when he could strike, the perfect time to get away with murder.

It was Snape who gave him the solution.

The Slytherin Head of House was substituting for Lupin, after the Defense professor got sick. When someone could tell if Lupin was too sick to teach was a mystery. The man always looked too sick.

Snape was in a particularly snarky mood, and decided to switch up the material. They should have been reading about Red Caps, but thankfully, the lesson was on werewolves instead. How to recognize a werewolf and its bite. How to differentiate between werewolves and other creatures and beings with shape shifting abilities. Truthfully, Harry wasn't paying as much attention as he should, especially in a class Snape was teaching. He just couldn't.

He'd just had a telling conversation with Lord Voldemort. He'd opened himself to a dark lord, and in turn, the man had told him to kill someone.

Harry knew it was wrong, what he was planning. He knew he shouldn't listen to anything Voldemort said, but what if it brought him what he wanted? What if it really were for the best? Many different thoughts were screaming at him from inside. Some called him an idiot, some called him evil. The loudest one called him pathetic for even thinking of backing down. The voice that ended up winning was telling him to forget about it for now and pay attention to Snape.

It was like a slap to the face. Like Harry had run straight into a wall. Lupin was a werewolf. Of course he was. Snape had practically just told them. It was too obvious now that Harry had seen it. Could that be the reason he felt anxious and uneasy around Lupin? Probably. That didn't really matter though, as Harry had found the answer to the problem that had started haunting him since Christmas.

Lupin's death would be a matter of self-defense, not premeditated murder. Now, all that was left was the act itself…

_Kill him._

**sSsSs**

Voldemort reclined in the plush chair, holding a small, black book. He stroked the spine lovingly, reminiscing a time when this diary had first helped him. As a teen, he would spend hours writing in it, letting out all of the pesky feelings that would have held him back. He wouldn't be here now if he hadn't have had this little plain book. The writing was no longer visible, but had taken on new meaning all the same. Now, the diary had literally kept him alive. It is a treasure he had hated to part with. Tom Riddle's very first Horcrux.

It wasn't the last time he had killed to split his soul, but it was his favorite time.

"Lucius. Did you do as I asked?"

Lucius bowed as he entered the room, keeping his eyes on the floor. It may be his own home, but Lucius wasn't about to choose pride over his life. Or the lives of his family. The Dark Lord will be respected, no matter where, how, or by whom. That was just the way the world worked.

"Yes, my lord. Fudge was only too happy to help, of course."

Voldemort chuckled. The Minister of Magic was a sad excuse for a leader. He would always back whoever seemed to have the most money.

"Good. Now that I will have Harry Potter where I need him, and when, the ritual can be held off until I get back a few of my old… valuables."

Voldemort was excited, but it wouldn't do to move too quickly, make a mistake. Just because he could call on Potter's services whenever he pleased didn't mean he should wait too long to complete the ritual that would return him to his true form. The next stage would be difficult, especially in Quirrell's body, but it needed to be done first. He needed them back…

"I will ready the portkey for us, my lord."

Both men stood and donned traveling cloaks and wands.

"Thank you, Lucius. I believe I'm quite ready for a trip to a nice island resort. What about you?"

**sSsSs**

Harry made his way briskly back toward the common room. He'd just come from the library- the Restricted Section, thanks to Snape- and picked out a much more advanced, in depth book about werewolves. If he was going to go through with this, he needed to plan. He needed to be absolutely prepared.

Killing werewolves was not an easy task.

Just as Harry turned the corner, he nearly ran straight into someone coming from the dungeons. Oh, no. Lupin. Harry quickly hid the book under his cloak, hoping the man hadn't seen it.

"H-Mr. Potter. Hello."

Good. Lupin hadn't seen anything.

"Hello, Professor. What are you doing down here?"

Lupin stalled, looking to the left. Harry knew the man was nervous about something. When a person darts their eyes to the left, it usually means they are looking for an excuse, thinking up a good story after being caught. Good. Let him squirm.

"Well, I was looking for you, actually. Professor Snape said you might be in the library, and I was hoping to find you there. I… would like to speak to you."

"Why?"

Lupin jumped at Harry's tone. It was harsh, cold, short. Harry was making it all too clear he wanted nothing to do with Lupin.

Lupin knew he deserved it.

"Harry… I wanted to apologize to you. About the boggart. I thought maybe you might listen to me if I told you I knew your parents. I could tell you so much about th-"

"Well, you were wrong, Professor. I don't care what you say, nothing will make me want to be alone with you. And I think it's a very low thing for you to try to use my dead parents to lure me in. Wouldn't you agree?"

Lupin never saw it coming. Harry's words were cutting deep. He watched with wide eyes as this boy, James' boy, showed nothing but loathing for him. It was in his eyes. Green fire blazed, ignited by anger, by hatred. Hatred for him.

Harry moved around him slowly, heading for the Slytherin dorms. Lupin couldn't move.

"Oh, and Professor?"

Harry had stopped just feet away. Lupin could not see his face, but heard the crack in his voice, some kind of hidden grief.

"Please, just stay away from me."

**sSsSs**

Footsteps. Coming toward him.

Sirius Black quickly shifted back into his human form. His canine animagus form worked to keep his sanity safe from the Dementors, but it wouldn't be good to be caught by one of the guards.

Sirius moved from his dark corner, trying to look out at the world, which was nothing but a long, grimy corridor in Azkaban prison. A guard was walking briskly, followed by two men. One, younger looking, Sirius could not recognize. The other one, the tall blond, Sirius knew.

What was Lucius Malfoy doing here?

The three men stopped at one particular cell, and it became immediately obvious to Sirius. Fear gripped his lonely heart, as he saw the guard leave Lucius and the stranger to speak to their prisoner of choice.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

Now, all of the old Death Eaters had come awake from their persistent state of lethargy, all moving about in their cells. Something was about to happen, something big, something bad.

Sirius knew then if he didn't get out now, he was going to die.

**sSsSs**

"I must be insane."

Now that Harry thought about it, standing out under the full moon, he really must have lost his mind somewhere along the road.

He was actually planning on killing a transformed werewolf. Alone. Outside in the Forbidden Forest.

It had better be worth it.

Harry stood within a clearing just inside the forest, far away from the hut that Hagrid called his home. Harry could not be seen tonight.

Harry had watched Lupin transform and take off from this very spot. The same place where Lupin would return once the night was over and he would turn back into his human form. Harry had a number of traps set up and had planned this whole operation out to perfection. He wasn't likely to fail.

For some reason, Harry felt like he really should fail. A small part of him wanted to get caught, wanted to be hauled off for this. Somewhere inside, Harry felt like a monster.

_Pathetic._

Harry stilled his nerves and got ready to move.

To avoid being found by the werewolf, Harry had cast a useful little charm on himself. It kept him from being found by animals by masking his scent. He'd learned it from the werewolf book from the Restricted Section, and it explained how the spell worked. It was very much like the Bubblehead charm, but instead of just keeping breathable air around the mouth and nose, it covered the entire body, keeping the human scent from permeating the air, like a reverse shield.

Harry still kept downwind though, just in case.

When he was ready, all he had to do was lift the anti-scent charm, and Lupin would come right to him.

Harry checked the traps once more, paranoid they wouldn't work when he needed them. Scared they wouldn't go off properly while he was face-to-face with a vicious animal.

The traps had simple enough to construct. They were basically a magical bomb, rigged to explode in an inferno when he cast Incendio. They were spread around in a tight circle, with himself at the center. All he would have to do was wait until the wolf was in the center with him, the cast the fire spell at one of the bombs, and they would all go off at once. Or at least, they were supposed to.

Once the wolf was trapped in a circle of flames, it would have nowhere to run. Werewolves, like many animals, hated fire. It would be scared, it would possibly hurt itself trying to run through the fire. But the fire would not let it escape. The bombs, once ignited, would furiously burn anything that touched the flames.

All Harry would have to really do was sit back and watch the creature burn itself to death.

"Dear God, what's wrong with me?"

_You're weak. You're too soft. That's what's wrong with you._

"Shut up. Just shut up…"

**sSsSs**

Potter wasn't in bed.

Where the hell is that little brat?

Severus trudged down the hall, making his way from the dungeons. Potter was gone, and he needed to be found. Potter wouldn't really do something… drastic, would he?

He'd better not. Severus would ring him good if he found out Potter had gotten himself hurt. This would be a lot easier if he only knew what the Dark Lord had told the boy to do…

There. Lupin's office was lit. Lupin always made sure it was locked and no candle was left burning. It was a full moon, Severus knew for a fact that the werewolf was roaming the forest right now, so who was in his office? Severus didn't need to guess.

There was Potter, sitting on the floor, in front of a open wardrobe. So, the story about his boggart wasn't exaggerated, after all. The creature had taken the form of a young Harry Potter, and he was a horrifying sight of bloody bruises and broken bones. The real Potter just sat staring at it.

The vision hit Severus just a little too close to home for his liking.

"Potter! I should give you detention for the rest of your school years! Why aren't you in bed?"

Potter just sat in the shadow of the wardrobe. He suddenly nodded toward the boggart.

"What do you see when you look at him?"

Severus sighed. He did not want to do this.

"Potter, get up and go to bed."

"Please, sir. Just… what do you see? Do you see a monster?"

A monster? Oh Merlin, what was going on now?

"Potter…"

Sigh. Well, there is one way to end this.

"I see a boggart that turned into a little boy."

"That's all?"

"Yes, now get up before I have to-"

"I killed him."

Severus stopped dead, his blood running cold. Potter's voice was different, his entire body was shivering. There was dirt caked along the bottom of his robes.

"What did you say?"

"Lupin, sir. I killed him. Just now. In the forest. I… I took his life as if it were mine to take."

Voldemort. That son of a bitch. He's using kids now.

"I…he'll never smile again. He'll never laugh again. He'll never speak again. Because of me. I took Lupin away, it's my fault. Why? What have I done?"

Potter finally looked away from the boggart. His eyes shone, he wanted to cry. Needed to cry. Severus knew this situation. He'd been through it himself. He knew Potter would not cry.

Those green eyes were just so broken, though.

"Come on, Harry. It's over now."


	9. VIII: I Love the Way You Lie

I disavow all rights to copyrighted material.

* * *

My Heart Burns

Chapter VIII: I Love the Way You Lie

**SsSsS**

_Maybe, just maybe, there is no purpose in life. But if you linger a while longer in this world, you might discover something of value in it, like how you discovered that flower. Or, how I discovered you._

**SsSsS**

It was out of his hands. All of it. The world was delving into some new kind of chaos, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Dumbledore had seen to Lupin's funeral. There wasn't much to see to. The man had no family. No one was left in his life to console, really. Old friends were either dead or criminals. Or both. There were some, the Weasleys, Alastor Moody, and a few others who would miss Remus Lupin.

Upon learning of his death from Severus, Dumbledore had wept. He'd wept for another life gone, taken before his time. He wept for the one responsible. Dumbledore wept for Harry Potter.

It truly was a sad day, when the Ministry took Harry's guardianship from Albus and gave it over to Lucius Malfoy.

Dumbledore wept. For everyone.

**sSsSs**

Out of the castle, and into the manor.

Finally away from that place, Harry felt lighter. Harry felt warmer. Harry felt alive.

After the school found out about their favorite Defense teacher had passed away, it seemed the entire student body was mourning. They liked him, he had been a good professor, a nice man. He was a gentle soul, even if he was a beast outside. Inside, he was a good man.

No one in Slytherin had dared approach Harry.

Harry had suddenly, unexplainably, stopped talking. He would say nothing in class, at meal times, to his friends. Nothing. Many stayed far away, fearful of an explosion if they got too close. Harry had never been more intimidating to them.

They felt pity for Draco, when they learned that Harry would be living with him over the summer. Draco took it in stride. The blond wasn't worried. At all. He knew more of the truth than anyone else in the school, save for Theodore.

The train ride had been long and tense, but at least Harry hadn't actually spontaneously combusted.

Besides, one week at the manor, and Harry would be gone. Off somewhere with the Dark Lord himself. Lucky little git. Everyone was so jealous of Harry Potter.

**sSsSs**

Every morning in the Malfoy household, Harry woke up to a gift. Narcissa was a sweet woman. She knew far more than she should. She brought him a white Iceberg rose the first morning. The next, a small cluster of Annabelle hydrangea. A Shasta daisy. One Immortality iris. Snow-white Calla lily. A touch of Queen Anne's Lace.

On the last day, Harry received one perfect datura.

He'd never been so grateful to another person as he was to Narcissa Malfoy. All the flowers had been a solid, delicate white. The datura was his favorite though. It was absolutely perfect for him. It was soft, only blooming at night, staying open until dawn.

Every part of the plant was extremely poisonous.

Harry found a note with the last flower. A spell. A wonderful spell. It would keep the flower alive. For as long as Harry wanted. It made the flower's life something he could literally hold in his hand. It gave him power to have the plant forever, or kill it in a second.

Harry would never kill this datura.

**sSsSs**

"Harry, you've a very good job."

Alone in this new mansion with Voldemort was wonderful. Harry felt peaceful for the first time in his life. He'd not been here long, but already he knew this was were he wanted to stay. This was were he belonged.

This was home.

"So, even I get the silent treatment from you? Harry, if you didn't want to come here with me, you shouldn't have come."

"No! I wanted to come…"

Tricky Dark Lord finally made Harry speak. A slight curve of Harry's lips gave Voldemort a rush of pride. He could still manipulate anyone, even this psychopath of a child.

"Good. But tell me, why did you stop talking? Killing Lupin couldn't have been so bad, could it?"

All trace of emotion left the boy. That was it, he still hasn't broken free. He will though, the Dark Lord was going to see to it.

"Harry. You are my tool, are you not? This way what you wanted. His death was my decision, not yours. You were merely following orders, like any good little servant should."

Harry would not look him in the eye. This would not do.

Harry jerked as he felt a gentle touch from the Dark Lord lift his chin, forcing him to meet crimson eyes. A touch. One touch and Harry felt like he would die. Like he'd rather die. No touch was a good touch. Human hands would only hurt him.

"Calm yourself. I will not hurt you. Do you believe me?"

Of course, Harry didn't believe him.

"I will never hurt you, my little wizard. And if I do, I promise it will be with a wand. I will never hit you."

"How…how do you know I'm afraid of being hit?"

Well, we are getting somewhere.

"Harry, do you remember Halloween in your first year at Hogwarts? I used Legilimency on you. I saw everything you wanted to keep hidden."

Harry's eyes went wide, white showing around beautiful green.

"Yes, I saw the fire. I saw the hurt those filthy muggles caused you. They deserved death. And so did Lupin. I have the right to judge them, Harry, and do you know why?"

Harry slowly shook his head.

"You see, Harry, power is everything. And I have more than anyone alive. I am a god to these humans, and you are my little angel now. Aren't you, Harry?"

"An angel?"

"My angel. You belong to me, Harry. Only to me. Isn't that what you want?"

A soft smile from the boy was the answer. It was hesitant, but true. It was real, all of this. Voldemort may be lying to Harry, but that was just fine. Especially since that's all the child wanted. This special boy, his angel, could not handle reality. So, Voldemort would give him lies. Voldemort would save him from himself, from the truth.

He would feed Harry fables from his hand forever.

**sSsSs**

The diary was a great idea. Of course it was. It was Voldemort's idea.

Harry wrote in his book everyday, sometimes more than once. It felt good to get the confusing thoughts out. They were polluting his mind, always had been, and now it was like he was shedding dead skin every time he wrote. It was what Voldemort used to do when he was young.

The first was littered with what anyone else would call nonsense. Harry understood it, though, and that's all that mattered.

_He lies to you._

_Yes, he does._

_You know, but you still believe in him._

_Yes._

_You're weak._

_Because I believe him? I choose to. He makes me strong._

_Only you can make yourself strong. You're pathetic._

_Maybe, it doesn't really matter anymore._

_Why?_

_His lies give me a reason to live._

_Why?_

_The lies are sweeter than truth. They are the only thing I love._

_You love now?_

_Yes. Only his lies._

_You're sick._

_I don't care._

_It wasn't supposed to be this way._

_I don't care._

**sSsSs**

The ritual was to be completed tonight. Harry had eagerly jumped at the chance to do something so important for his master, his god. The rebirth of Lord Voldemort had finally come.

And the Dark Lord didn't even have to worry about his angel's whereabouts. Harry had started following him around like a lost puppy. It was wondrous how the boy had changed, had so completely given up his entire existence for Voldemort.

Harry would not be able to function without his master now.

A new promise had been made, too. Harry swore never to leave Lord Voldemort, he would be at his side forever. Harry had told the truth. The Dark Lord swore the same, that he would always keep Harry at his side, and they would live forever, ruling the world. He had lied, but it was a necessary evil. Angels wear created to serve God, and God sacrificed his angels.

It was all for the greater good.

The first sight of the pale, snake-like man rising from the cauldron gave Harry chills. Voldemort was power incarnate. He would be the ruler of the world, and Harry would help him get there. Many of the Death Eaters who were present had thought the exact same thing. Bellatrix, her family, and all of the prisoners had been rescued from their prison, and now stood before their lord, in awe. Bellatrix was crying and yelling in excitement, and soon crowd joined her, bowing to their messiah.

Harry's heart skipped a beat.

He didn't belong here. He hated these people and he hated Voldemort, but he had no other choice. This was why he was born.

No one could save him now.


	10. IX: Welcome to the Family

I disavow all rights to copyrighted material.

Thank you all for the reviews and alerts! Those last few chapters were kinda heavy, so this one will be a little lighter. Hope you enjoy! I would love to hear from you!

* * *

My Heart Burns

Chapter IX: Welcome to the Family

**SsSsS**

_Laughter kills fear, and without fear there can be no faith. For without fear of the devil there is no need for God._

**SsSsS**

The lie was done. It was time to return to the cold, harsh truth of reality. It was time for Harry to return to Hogwarts.

He was already irritated because of it.

Harry had wanted to beg and plead with Voldemort to let him stay, to never have to come back to the castle, but the Dark Lord had a need for Harry to come back. Harry had mission this year.

The other Death Eaters were not happy about it, either. How could a skinny little boy get the best treatment? How did Harry Potter get so high up on their Lord's favorite list that the kid gets the first shot at Dumbledore? It was a simple answer.

Voldemort had a plan in motion, and sacrificing Harry Potter was crucial to it. The boy could not possibly hope to defeat Albus Dumbledore. He was silly to think he could.

Perhaps, Harry knew their Lord didn't expect him to actually succeed?

It didn't make any difference whether he knew or not. Harry was dead this year, one way or the other.

**sSsSs**

Dumbledore was shocked at the man who stood before him, stalking the length of his office. Not for many years had Sirius Black stepped foot in Hogwarts, but here he was, screaming at the headmaster.

"I can't believe this! You let Malfoy have James' son! What the hell is wrong with you! I was in prison-wrongly accused, mind you!- and you've done nothing but sit here! You even stood by when Remus died! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Sirius had been on this same tirade for the past two hours. He'd blamed Dumbledore, proclaimed his own innocence, and then Dumbledore some more. The Headmaster had a headache the size of Europe and just wanted to take his tea, without it being poured over his head.

Ah, youth.

Eventually, the two wizards came to an agreement. Sirius would leave the school, quietly, and Dumbledore would not haul him back to Azkaban in a teapot. It worked out for the both of them.

That was, until Harry met Sirius.

**sSsSs**

Harry was in an especially foul mood. Poor Goyle could now attest to that. All the Slytherins were trying to do was go to Charms. Unfortunately for Gregory, he was caught laughing too loudly while trudging he way up the staircase. He got hit from behind with the Jellylegs Jinx, and down he rolled. It would have been funny, had Harry not threatened anyone who dared laugh with something worse.

No one laughed for the rest of the day.

Harry sat fidgeting in every class now, bored with the work. He was prone to studying ahead, most of his reading far more advanced than fourth-year material.

The brat's attitude was really starting to irk Mad-Eye Moody.

The black dog that Harry could see out of the window in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom wasn't doing anything interesting, so Harry decided to listen in to the lesson after all. He debated whether the dog was actually a guilty vision of a wolf- which he figured was likely, knowing his mind- or if it was the Grimm. He secretly hoped it was the omen of death. Harry would only have to see it one more time, then he'd be free of this place.

To Hell with everyone.

_Even your precious Voldemort?_

…Yes.

_Good. Now you're learning._

**sSsSs**

Harry's Journal Entry 9:

_Reality has set in once again, and the fuzzy feeling of happiness has been replaced by Hogwarts._

_In other words, I'm pissed off._

_At least this journal has become legible, instead of the rubbish I scribbled before. Seriously, that stuff is creepy. What the bloody hell was wrong with me? I really sounded like a freak. I thought that was exactly want I didn't want to be, and yet that's what I am when I'm with __**him**__._

_I'm glad I'm angry. It's got me thinking clearly again. Questioning myself again. Having logical thoughts._

_I've decided not to go anywhere near __**him**__ again. But, I may not have a choice. Just as long as this isn't found, I should live another year. Maybe._

_Also, that damn dog must not be the Grimm. I've watched it a total of 12 times now, and it's doing nothing. My mind may be trying to cope with its new insanity after the wolf incident, and has formed some kind of vision, out of guilt._

_Or, it's just a stray. But really, this is Hogwarts. The simple answers are always wrong._

_Oh well, at least I know I'm bound to have perfect marks again this year. There's that._

_And if I happen to die before I get to take my O.W.L.S. or N.E.W.T.S., I think I may have to haunt whoever kills me. I've worked too hard to not get to take those tests damn it._

**sSsSs**

The big black dog was, in fact, not a big black dog. It was a man who had a bad habit of kidnapping fourteen-year olds, apparently.

Harry had his wand aimed straight at the stranger's head, ready to blow it off his shoulders if he even breathed too hard. The man, Sirius Black, had his hands up in surrender, but wore an amused smirk.

The bastard.

"I won't ask you again, Mr. Black, what do you want with me?"

A laugh echoed off the dusty walls.

"You really are his son."

"What?"

Black lowered his arms, causing Harry to nearly curse him. Harry was jumpy today.

"James Potter. You know, your dad? He used to be a nervous dueler too. I always used to trip him up when we practiced by suddenly yelling out something stupid, like "Hey look, its Lily!" and he would fall for it every time."

The man chuckled, remembering his story fondly. Black seemed so easy going, so nonchalant about this. It was really annoying.

Harry wanted to just hit him square in the eye with something particularly painful, but something stopped him. Something Black had said.

"Lily was my mother's name, correct?"

Black looked at Harry like he'd just grown an extra head.

"You didn't know your parents' names, did you? Shit, I'm such an idiot."

Harry sighed. This was going to be a long Saturday.

"You're going to have to elaborate, Mr. Black, otherwise I still won't know what the hell you're talking about.""What's with this "Mr. Black"? My name's Sirius, remember?"

"Alright, _Sirius_. What. Do. You. Want?"

"Your attention. And now that I have it, I'm going to threaten you."

"Wha-"

"If you even think of going back to the Malfoys, I will kick you ass."

Harry was speechless. What kind of potion was this man on?

"Ok, look. It's a long story, Harry. But if you'd just sit down, and stop pointing your wand at me, maybe I could explain. Think you can do that?"

Harry wanted to, he really did. This strange man was a different breed of human. He wasn't afraid to joke, even with a weapon in his face. He seemed like a nice guy, somewhat, and Harry found himself wanting to know what Sirius had to say. Strangely, the voice that usually always had something to say had been quiet this entire time.

It all had Harry very curious. So, he pocketed his wand and settled in.

**sSsSs**

Harry's Journal Entry 10:

_The first few meetings with one Sirius Black were… eye-opening. He's had quite the story to tell, most of it just as insane as he is. The man must suffer from all sorts of delusions. He's definitely paranoid, but then again, he is an escaped convict. He may even have dementia, but I really can't afford trying to analyze him. For my own sake, as my own mind is unstable enough._

_He was in Gryffindor. I'll just leave it at that._

_Sirius turning up now could work out for me. He was a little late, as in 13 years late, but hey, at least he's here now. Better late than never, I guess. He's actually offered me a way out. He seems to think a teenager going on the run with a criminal would be preferable to living with Malfoys. He's right. It would be. If I were to take off with Sirius, I wouldn't have to go back to __**him**__, meaning I would get to keep my mind in tact this summer. Which is good._

_The fact that I'd be hunted down until the day I die isn't too bad. It's actually sort of exciting._

_Oh Merlin, the dog's already starting to rub off on me._

_I have made up mind though. I'm done with tragedy. Sirius is funny. He's good at making fun of people- always a plus- and he knows how to lighten a bad mood. I think I like him…_

_He explained something important to me._

_He said that life isn't about finding answers to all the questions we might have. He said that everyone has some emptiness inside, that everyone feels, no matter how much some of us might wish we didn't. It actually made sense, like he really knew what he was talking about. Like he's been there too._

_I guess I can't rationalize everything. I can't win that fight._

_I just know if I have another summer like the last, I may not make it out of there. I don't want to be that. I thought I did, but something changed. I think __**he**__ was right about one thing: anger is power. __**He**__ just didn't mean for me to use it against __**him**__._

_**He **__thinks he's God, but he's wrong. __**He's **__a king, and king's can be dethroned._

_Sirius told me something else that really stuck: fighting a war, whether against a bad guy and his army, or against yourself, isn't about winning. It's all about standing up for what you believe in, even if you die. At least, you would have died for a good reason._

_I wonder, does that pertain to Remus Lupin? Did he die a hero? Or did he die as nothing more than a dog?_

_I think, in time, I'll ask Sirius. Or maybe sooner rather than later. His answer will tell me if fighting __**him**__ would really be worth the trouble._

_Sirius has really made me stop and think, though. I wonder, what do I believe in? What would be worth dying for?_

_I don't know. But I do know that I now consider myself an atheist._


	11. X: World So Cold

I disavow all rights to copyrighted material.

Another short chapter. Sorry.

* * *

My Heart Burns

Chapter X: World So Cold

**SsSsS**

_How did you get here and when did it start? An innocent child with a thorn in his heart._

**SsSsS**

Harry watched on as Sirius devoured plate upon plate of food. Watching the man, his godfather, eat as though he'd never seen food before reminded Harry of his own past. He felt a spark of some faraway emotion, something he'd never felt for another human being before. Harry pitied Sirius and wanted to help him. He didn't want to see Sirius eating like this, so he turned his gaze to look out the window.

Sirius made Harry realize so many things, without even trying. Until now, Harry never knew that he was pitying himself. Always and only himself.

Before Sirius came into Harry's life, Harry had never felt empathy.

Harry wondered if he would ever be able to show his gratitude to this man. This dirty, shabby, unstable man who had come to mean so much to Harry. How could Harry possibly thank Sirius, when he couldn't even tell him the truth?

It wasn't fair to Sirius, none of this was. Harry needed to face himself, and the truth, and risk getting rejected by the man. Sirius was a good man who'd made his own mistakes in the past. Would he understand though? After what Harry had done?

Only one way to find out. If Sirius hated Harry, it wouldn't be so bad, right? Harry knew there was one other person who might still want him, even if just for a tool.

"Sirius?"

The man looked up, mouth stuffed full with chicken, making his cheeks puff out, with his eyes wide, curious. Harry chuckled, rolling his eyes at the goofy look on Sirius' face.

"What is it, kid?"

Harry sobered up instantly, preparing him for inevitable failure. Now, how to start…

"I need to ask you something important, Sirius. But I have some explaining to do first."

Harry moved from leaning against the wall. They were in an old abandoned classroom on the first floor, where Sirius could make a quick exit if need be. Harry stopped pacing to stand in front of a dusty window. Sirius followed him, forgetting the food.

"What's wrong, Harry?"

Harry wiped some grime from the window, dreading this moment with all his heart.

"Do you believe some people are born evil?"

_You're stalling._

"Well, no I don't. Just because someone has bad parents, doesn't mean they're automatically bad too. I know from experience. My brother and I were completely different. But I have a feeling that's not what you wanted to ask…"

"No, it wasn't."

Harry jumped when he felt a warm hand land on his shoulder. Another thing about Sirius, he like to show comfort with touch. At first, it scared Harry to death, but now he was slowly learning that Sirius really didn't want to hurt him.

At least, for now.

"I… I…"

_Just tell him!_

Damn it!

"I killed Lupin!"

Harry shut his eyes as tight as could, and waited.

"What? Harry, wha- what are you talking about?"

Sirius had such an incredulous look marring his rough features, that Harry just wanted to take it all back and run away. He couldn't, wouldn't do that.

"I killed Remus Lupin, Sirius. I followed him into the forest one night, and I took his life. I watched him die…"

Sirius' shock melted into anger.

"Did he do something to you, Harry? Did Remus hurt you?"

It was Harry turn to be shocked.

"No… Well, there was the boggart, but no, he didn't really do anything-"

"Who told you to kill him? Was it Malfoy? He made you do?"

Sirius was beginning to scare Harry now. There was a mad fire burning in his eyes and he was muttering nonsense about "choking that blond bastard."

"Sirius, it wasn't Malfoy."

"Nott then."

"No."

"Son of a bitch! It was Snape wasn't it? I'll kill him!"

Harry had to run to catch up with Sirius, who'd already reached the door by the time Harry realized he'd moved. This was not going well at all.

"Sirius listen to me! Just stop! Please… Sirius, it was Voldemort."

That got his attention. Sirius went pale, his blue eyes as wide as they could go. This was it. No turning back. No more running.

"He's back, Sirius. He's back and it's all because of me."

The man was silent. The room was deafened by his silence. Harry felt his eyes start to burn. He would not cry, not now, never again. He had to be stronger than that. He had to fight it until his dying breath. His mouth, on the other hand, betrayed him.

"Do you hate me?"

Harry had never known the feeling of an embrace. It was so foreign, so intimate, that it scared Harry more than any weapon. So when he suddenly found himself in Sirius' arms, the tears he had so valiantly fought against finally won out. They came like a flood of hate and rage and pain, all washing away, all because of one man. Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, who'd snuck into Harry's life, his heart, and finally succeeded in shining a light in a broken child's dark world.

_You are strong now._

**sSsSs**

The news from Hogwarts was distressing indeed.

Barty Crouch Jr., who was currently parading around the school disguised as Alastor Moody, sent word on Potter's new acquaintance. Lucius had been the one to relay the news of Sirius Black to the Dark Lord, and he was thankful to be alive now.

Their lord was furious.

Believing he'd lost his newest slave to a Black, Voldemort went off on a couple very unlucky Death Eaters. It was a good thing they weren't important members though, as one of them was now dead.

Just recently, everyone had been so envious of Potter, the Dark Lord's new favorite. Now it was plain to see, they were all grateful not to be in his shoes. If the boy didn't know he had been playing with fire when he had mislead Voldemort, he would find out soon enough, when he would be engulfed in the raging fury that was Lord Voldemort.


	12. XI: Snuff

I disavow all rights to copyrighted material.

Oh, wow. This story is almost complete! I already posted chapter ten today, but it was short and this one is short so I'm posting this one today too. Then, just one more chapter, which I'll post tomorrow, then an epilogue and this story is over! Yay! I have had a great time writing it and you've all been so nice and great to read it and the reviews have been just awesome! Thank you all so much! I wasn't sure if this story would be any good or not, but you seemed to like it and that's all that really matters to me! Thank you all again!

* * *

My Heart Burns

Chapter XI: Snuff

**SsSsS**

_Where God has his church the Devil will have his chapel._

**SsSsS**

Flames will eventually turn to dust. Lovers will leave. The sun will set. Parents will die. It is inevitable.

All good things come to an end.

Harry understood better than most, but he never seemed to be able to prepare himself for the endings. He worked so hard to do his best, and though his mistakes were made, they were forgiven.

Sirius did not hate him. He was angry, yes. He was sad, yes. He did not hate Harry. He did not blame Harry, not fully. Harry was partially responsible for Lupin's death, but others needed to answer for it. Harry accepted this, he owned up to it. Though it hurt Harry to hurt Sirius, it was over now. Harry had told the truth, and it turned out to be a good thing.

Harry, for the first time in his life, had been the recipient of the phrase "I love you."

Life was good, but all good things come to an end.

**sSsSs**

The Slytherins thought it odd, how Harry was acting. Their classmate was no longer attacking them, though Goyle choose to stay away from him as much as possible. Harry seemed to be ignoring them completely, like he was better than them. They all took this as a personal offense, and decided he should just go find a group of Gryffindors to sit with.

So, when Snape entered the dungeon classroom for the potions lesson, he was surprised to find Potter on the Gryffindor side of the seating. He said nothing, as Potter was not causing trouble with the stupid lions, but he kept a close watch nonetheless.

Merlin only knew what was wrong with the brat now.

The same happened in Defense Against the Dark Arts. All the Slytherins refused to sit next to Harry, and forced him away. It wasn't like he really cared. None of them were anything important to him.

Besides, he was riding high on the secure knowledge that he was wanted. That Sirius would be there.

After class ended, Harry was held back by Moody. Harry didn't think much of it. He was preoccupied, and that's why the stunner came so unexpectedly. He woke up, magical binds keeping him in a chair. Standing before him was Moody. Fear crippled him. Did Sirius tell them? Did Snape? Was he being arrested?

No, it was much worse.

Moody- real name Barty- explained to Harry the situation they found themselves in. The Dark Lord wanted Harry back at the mansion in Little Hangleton. Now. Harry was informed that he had to leave school, via portkey that Moody would hand over, and return to their lord's side for good. Harry would not be coming back to school. Ever.

Harry would not be seeing Sirius again. Ever. It was all going to end, and if he didn't immediately go to Voldemort, well the consequences would be fatal.

Harry would be tortured and killed, left in a public place as an example. Then, Voldemort would start on Sirius. Sirius would murdered, violently, and it would all be Harry's fault.

None of this would be necessary, of course, if Harry had just followed orders. He'd forgotten about the plan. He'd went his own way, made his own decisions, and now, it was time for punishment.

Harry was let go, handed the portkey, and told to be at Voldemort's side in ten minutes. Harry would forgo packing, he would only grab a piece of parchment and write a letter. If he hurried, he could leave in time and say goodbye.

**sSsSs**

Sirius hurried down the hall. Class about just about to let out, and he wanted to be in his meeting spot with Harry before the kid got there. Harry was always complaining about Sirius being late.

Sirius would him this time. This time, Harry would be the one that was late.

Sure, Sirius had been in shock for awhile after hearing about Moony. To think, killed by James' son, it was strange, just wrong. Though, when they saw each other again, Sirius was sure they'd actually laugh about it, somewhere in the afterlife. Moony and Prongs were probably rolling in their graves right now.

Sirius chuckled lightly to himself as he slid into the room, back in human form. The trouble James used to cause…

He stopped, seeing a piece of new parchment laying on the floor, left underneath a plate of food. Harry had already been here? The was odd. He should have stayed.

Then Sirius read the letter. It was bad. Very bad. Runaway criminal or not, Sirius would fly through the halls of Hogwarts to find Dumbledore as soon as possible.

Sirius never had the chance. As soon as he read the last words Harry wrote, he world turned black. He was out before he hit the floor.

**sSsSs**

_Sirius,_

_I apologize for leaving. No, that sounds so cold. Let me try that again._

_Sirius,_

_I never deserved to meet you._

_You have given me something I never dreamed of._

_Before I met you, I knew nothing about honor, about courage. I didn't know if love really existed, or if it was just a belief, just the faith that everything was right, that someone was right._

_I used to think that losing all hope was freedom. That if I could just let go of all emotion, all responsibility, that would free me. But I owned up to my decisions because of you, for you. And that was what set me free. It has made my last decision easier. But it's still so hard to do._

_I swore I would never lie to you again. And this is my last chance to tell you the truth. So, here goes._

_Voldemort wants me back. I'm going back._

_Trust me, I don't want to. It's the last thing I want. But the choice has been taken away from me. He will kill me if I don't go now. If I go, it will be easy, and I may only have to endure a Cruciatus or two. If I refuse him, he will not stop hunting me until he gets what he wants, you know that. If I don't go, I won't be the only death, and I would never be able to rest knowing you died because of me._

_So, it's really best this way, for everyone. At least I know that if I'm just going to my death, you'll be safe. And if he's going to kill me now, I promise you, I won't be going alone._

_I guess what I meant to say is that I'm sorry for hurting you. You mean more to me than you know. Thank you for finding me, thank you for being there._

_Thank you for saving me from myself. I will never forget you._

_And most importantly… I love you._

_Harry_


	13. XII: Awake and Alive

I disavow all rights to copyrighted material.

The last chapter! Well, not quite, there's just the epilogue after this and then it will be done. I hope you all have enjoyed it, and will like the end. Thank you!

* * *

My Heart Burns

Chapter XII: Awake and Alive

**SsSsS**

_Hell, covering all with its gloomy vapors, has cast shadows on even the holiest eyes._

**SsSsS**

Harry lay panting on the floor of Lord Voldemort's private lounge. The effects on the Cruciatus Curse still lingering, pain racking his body. Even though Harry had been given a minor punishment for such a major dishonor upon the Dark Lord, he still found himself sore and throat hoarse from screaming nonstop.

Three rounds of the torture curse had been more than enough for Harry to learn his lesson. Voldemort had promised Harry that the next time he was bad, he would truly understand the meaning of "fallen angel." Harry was certain there would not be a next time.

Harry had no time now to even get his breath back, as he was expected downstairs for a "presentation."

Dear Lord, what now?

**sSsSs**

Severus all but ran through the corridors. Dumbledore would still be in his office, not yet having gone to bed, but the head of Slytherin had to hurry as fast as he dared.

One of his Slytherins was missing. Seeing as that student happened to be Harry Potter, it could only mean one thing. Someone was in serious danger.

Possibly, the whole wizarding world was in danger.

Severus knew Potter could be anywhere, out killing or with the Dark Lord. Or the brat could be hurt somewhere, or worse, already dead. The potions master dreaded to find out, not knowing which scenario was really the worst.

Fortunately he was correct about Albus, as the headmaster was sitting serenely at his desk, sipping a short glass of amber ale.

"Severus, what is the matter?"

Snape had come bounding in, out of breath from running the halls. What could possibly have the Slytherin so worked up?

"We have a slight problem, Headmaster. Potter's gone. Nowhere to be found."

This was a problem. Dumbledore hadn't heard anymore from the escaped Sirius Black, but knew he'd never left the grounds of the school. Had the man contacted young Harry? Maybe taken him away? Or, was it so much worse?

"I'll contact the Weasley family and the rest of the Order of the Phoenix. Severus, would you please wake Minerva? It seems sleep will not be a luxury to take tonight."

**sSsSs**

He lied.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. Why was this happening? Harry had come when Voldemort called. He came like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs, begging for forgiveness. Harry had taken the punishment, had done everything right since he'd come back to Little Hangelton.

So, why? Why had Sirius been captured? Why was Harry being forced to watch as the only person he'd ever felt love for was mercilessly tortured and beaten?

_You knew your dark king was a liar, and yet you blinded yourself on purpose. This is your fault._

Harry was filled to the brim with guilt, it was eating him from the inside out, but all he could do was stand and watch. He was helpless, just as helpless as Sirius with each curse, each horrible new injury.

It really was all his fault. Harry had caused this, and now, he had no way to make his pain go away.

Harry steadied himself as Bellatrix cackled. He may be hurting, but thanks to Narcissa, Harry knew he could still save Sirius. Just as long as Sirius survived this.

_Stay strong, Sirius. Just a little while longer. Just give me one more chance. I __**will**__ make it up to you. All of it…_

"Harry."

Oh, no. Had Harry said that thought aloud? Had Sirius heard him? Had Bellatrix? Did the Death Eaters just heard him promise to save their newest captive?

"Harry, don't worry about me." Bellatrix cut Sirius off with a high-pitched shriek as she cast another terrifying curse, sending Harry's godfather to the floor.

Harry waited, silently begging Sirius to still live. Finally, after an eternity, the man moved to look Harry in the eye, a direct connection was made and Harry felt his breath come back.

"Harry, just get out. Find someway to get out and get Dumbledore, the Order…"

"Ha! Little Harry won't do that, dear cousin."

Bellatrix was crazy with furious glee, practically spitting in Sirius' face. Harry wanted nothing more than to break her.

"Ha…" Sirius gave a weak laugh, blood dripping with every sound, every breath he took. Harry tried to look away, but something inside would not let him look away, something was making him face this head on. Harry was almost grateful.

"You're so wrong, Bella dear. I know Harry. I've seen his Gryffindor side, and I taught him the best I could."

"Shut up! Crucio!"

Harry's anger and fear was growing stronger with each passing second. Sirius was purposely riling Bellatrix into torturing him. Why? Was he that stupid, that broken from Azkaban? Harry felt so helpless, so alone…

So alone, because there were no other Death Eaters in this dungeon room. Sirius was making sure to keep Bellatrix focused on him, so focused that she turned her back on Harry, completely ignoring him in favor of shutting Sirius up. It was now or never, there could be no hesitation. Harry felt no regret or fear as he raised his wand.

"Avada Kedavra."

Bellatrix fell, as if time had slowed, and hit the stone floor with a soft thud. Sirius looked as shocked as Harry felt. He hadn't been sure the curse would work for him. Harry hadn't been sure his anger would have been enough. Either he was in such a rage that his mind was clear, or his hatred had fueled the Killing Curse. Harry knew he had plenty of hatred to go around.

"Well, I guess I forgot about you being a Slytherin. Didn't teach you as well as I thought."

Sirius struggled to get up, but Harry was at the man's side in an instant. There wasn't much he could do for Sirius' pain, but there was one gift he could give him, before he ended this.

"Sirius, listen to me. You have to go get Dumbledore, the Aurors, whoever you can. Tell them Voldemort is in a large, abandoned mansion just outside of Little Hangelton."

Sirius grunted, but stood up.

"And how am I going to do that? Besides, I won't leave without you. At least you could sneak your way out. I would slow you down-"

Harry pulled something out of his cloak, shoving it into Sirius' hand.

"A flower? Harry what-"

"Sirius, shut up. This was a gift. It's a portkey, specially designed to leave these wards. Oh, and be careful with it, it's poisonous."

Sirius looked at the white trumpet bloom, confused as to who could have given it to Harry. He decided quickly that it didn't matter, that he would give his life so that Harry would be safely away from this place.

"No, Harry."

"Sirius, I've said all I needed to say. You're leaving now, but I will be right behind you. I have to do this, Sirius, I have to make sure Voldemort can't come after you. This was all my fault, and I intend to mend my mistakes."

"No, I won't let you stay here!"

Sirius was angry, but Harry didn't care. He couldn't. Sirius meant too much to him, and he was not going to let the man die.

"It doesn't matter what you want, Sirius. That decision was just taken away from you. I know what I have to do, but I can't do it if you're in the way… Oh, and Sirius?"

Sirius hadn't known what Harry was about to say. He thought he might hear one last confession, one last "I love you." What he heard was the last thing he wanted to hear, something from his own past.

When Harry utter the Black family motto, "Toujours Pur," Sirius only had one last second to look upon his godson, James and Lily's son, Lupin and Bellatrix's killer, before he was swept up by the datura portkey and thrown on the cold, soggy ground of Hogsmead.

Damn you, Narcissa. Damn you, and thank you.

**sSsSs**

Harry easily made it through the dungeons and up the stairs. He'd run into a few Death Eaters on his way, but they were no problem. After all, Harry was their master's angel, he could be trusted, he'd learned his place. They each had been dead before they even hit the floor.

Harry was creeping through one long corridor, towards a specific room. The room that Voldemort would guard with his life, the room Harry knew Voldemort was occupying at that very moment.

It was the room that held Tom Riddle's diary.

Harry was determined, more determined than he'd ever been before, but his nerves were going insane, his mind screaming at him to get out of the house and far away. He steeled himself, his destination in sight as the heat from downstairs soaked through the soles of his shoes.

All of Harry's rage and hate and pain was burning brilliantly right beneath him. He had to make sure no one got out of this mansion tonight, had to make sure he killed this god of darkness.

Harry's love for Sirius and hatred for himself made a beautiful sight as he turned it into the deadly Fiendfyre curse and loosed it upon the Riddle Manor.

Harry calmly stepped through the door, coming face-to-face with his Dark Lord.

"Harry, my angel. I hope you enjoyed the surprise I left with Bellatrix for you?"

_Oh we enjoyed it, alright._

"Not at all, _my lord_. I hope you enjoy my surprise for you too."

A loud crash below sounded as if on cue, and Voldemort knew then that Harry had left him.

"What have you done, Angel?"

The room was already starting to heat up. Harry needed to hurry if he wanted to try to get out alive.

"I would say in about, oh, two minutes, you will see exactly what I've done."

Voldemort was angry, very angry, as he pointed his wand at Harry, the Killing Curse just on the tip of his tongue. This boy would not be shown mercy, would not be forgiven for whatever crime against the Dark Lord he had committed this time. Voldemort would kill his own angel, then fix the mess he made of the mansion.

Harry laughed, actually laughed, at Voldemort's anger, laughed right in his face.

"Have you still not understood this, Voldemort? You are going to die here today, and if I have to die along with you, then that's just fine. I will not let you hurt anyone else."

"You insolent little brat! How dare you threaten me! You can't kill me, and you're a fool to ever think you could!"

Harry smiled, a real smile, full of genuine malice for the man before him, for this fake god. Harry had learned the truth at last, finally woke up. Harry was alive in this moment, and he had never felt such pure happiness.

"You're the fool, Voldemort. You see, if you were meant to live, God wouldn't have created me."

The green curse flew from the Dark Lord's wand instantly, but it never hit its mark. The Killing Curse, the "Avada Kedavra" from Voldemort's mouth was swallowed by a giant flaming dragon, having crashed up through the floor the two wizards had just been standing on. The bright fire ate everything it touched, engulfing every life, every object it saw.

Harry fell. Voldemort fell. Together, they were plunged into the depths of fiery corruption, created by an angel of destruction.


	14. Aftermath: Whispers in the Dark

I disavow all rights to copyrighted material.

Another short bit, but it is the end of My Heart Burns. I hope you all like it and it answers the questions The Prelude had us all asking. And I really hope it makes sense to you. It made sense to me, but then again, this is me we're talking about here lol. If it still leaves you with questions, feel free to ask and I will answer to the best of my abilities. Thank you all again so much!

* * *

My Heart Burns

Aftermath: Whispers in the Dark

**SsSsS**

_Shadows are born of the night; they can have no place within the light._

**SsSsS**

Whispers. Voices all around. They spoke comfort, of care. Not of hate and weakness. They were soft and warm, not cold and harsh.

There was darkness surrounding him. Harry saw nothing but the black.

There was also so much pain. Pain everywhere. Harry's body was burning, aching over every inch of flesh. Like he had no skin left.

The bed was soft. The sheets clean and stark white. Or, as far as he could tell, they would be white.

It took only a minute for Harry to realize he was in the hospital. It was not Hogwarts' own infirmary, but what he figured must be St. Mungo's.

It took only a second for Harry to realize he was not alone.

His eyes barely opened against the pain, Harry could see directly above him something he never thought he would see again, something he had longed to see just once more for the past five years. Above him, floating serenely, hung the very same shadowy presence that had saved him from the Dursleys.

It seemed to be smiling at him.

Harry wanted to reach out, to touch this being, but his arm would not move. It felt as though he were made of stone, and when he tried to force the limb, the muscles practically screamed at him in agony. The Harry heard the shadow's voice, just as thick, just as sweet as he remembered in his dreams.

_No, no. Don't try to move, little one. You've been too badly injured._

It was real, all real. It had to be, if he could hear it speak. Harry's head hurt with questions, with eager curiosity, with so many things unknown. He just had to ask one more time.

"Who are you?"

The shadow seemed to pause, deciding something, before it chuckled that low, husky laugh.

_I suppose you deserve to know… I was a wizard once, but I recall nothing of my life. Only my death and everything since has any meaning to me now. The first memory of my afterlife I can remember is pain, suffering, inside a wall of fire. I assume I was killed by muggles in the witch hunts of old._

It made sense, yet it didn't. If only Harry could understand…

_Some would call me a spirit, or a shade. To other, less inclined humans, I would be feared and persecuted as a demon. Muggles are very narrow-minded though, and fear what they do not understand. They do not understand the meaning of the word "demon."_

Demon? Harry knew the meaning, but could conjure nothing of substance in his muddled brain to truly help him focus on the shadow's words. It was all just too much, but he had to know.

"Have you been…with me all this time?"

_You mean, have I been possessing you? Yes. And no. I have not taken control of your mind, forcing you against your will. I found you, Harry, through your magic._

Harry remembered the theories from books, from Charms class, about the magical core of a wizard. A magical center, like a muscle, that held all the power a human could harness. Harry had always compared it to the Eastern ideals of the chakra system, a pathway of magic throughout the body. These were only myths and theories, though, and they had never been proven to be true.

_I felt a great force growing, I felt magic pulling energy from the environment around it, like a vampire feeding from a human. When I found the magic, it had grown to be large, very powerful. I was…excited, and wanted to investigate further. This energy lead me to you. A child, who had subconsciously suppressed his magic, causing it to break free and grow, using the energy of the earth. I saw you would be powerful one day, so I clung to your magic, attached myself to your power. And when the time came, I saved your life from those filthy muggles, and when your magic returned to you, I came with it._

"You… you brought the ashwinder?"

_Yes. It was easy enough, once I had access to magic again. It was the only way to save you, the only thing I could do. I would not let you die, and I still won't. I wanted to protect you, to nurture you into a great wizard. But I was impeded by another presence that had already been with you. You had an uninvited guest tainting your very soul, Harry._

What? Uninvited… oh, Harry was getting so tired. He didn't know how much longer he could stay awake. Or alive for that matter.

_Don't worry, little one. You will be fine now. I will not fail you again. Now that the fragment of darkness is gone from your life, we will start anew. You will have a guardian fit to raise you, that Black boy, and you will have me._

"Fragment of darkness?"

_Yes. The dark one, that Voldemort, he had left a piece of his own soul within you, and it was terrible. I tried to fight it, tried so hard, but it was too strong for me. It corrupted everything inside, turning your mind against you. Against me. Only with your new-found love and the fire curse were you able to rid yourself of the imposter. I could not help you then, but will not abandon you anymore. Just sleep now, Harry. Rest, knowing I will never be far from you. Your darkness will no longer be cold._

Harry drifted, fighting the urge to let go and dream. He felt a rising dread, a fear that would not rest within his heart. As it gnawed at him, filling him with a tired persistence, Harry fell into sleep, wondering if he would wake to a new beginning, or if it would just be another bittersweet end.

* * *

An open end? Maybe a sequel, some time in the future? Only if you want more! Let me know.


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